That Day
by Sarahlee
Summary: Bosco endures one of the worst days of his life...
1. Default Chapter

**That Day**

Author: Sarahlee  
Email: flmodelgirl@hotmail.com  
Category: Action /Adventure /Angst  
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence  


Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Third Watch characters - the ultimate bummer.   
Spoilers: Events though season three. 

Summery: Bosco endures one of the worst days of his life. 

A/N: To my loyal reviewers: Yes, I am going to finish my other fic, I want it to have the best possible ending for you guys and it takes time. I have been working hard on it, and in the mean time, typed out this one. I hope you like it! Review and make my day :)

********** 

It's funny how you remember different days of your life; the way they are permanently burned into your memory, how you can recall each smell, sight, taste and sound perfectly, as though you are reliving them. 

Some are special days: birthdays, Christmases, picnics, parties, fun stuff like that. But then, you have the awful days - the days you wish would go away and stop haunting you. Like the day your mom died, the day you had a car accident, or the day your dad beat you within an inch of your life. Those days. 

I have days I have never forgotten, like my seventh birthday, the one when I got that new bike from Ma. I can still see that shiny red paint and the happy smile on her face as she gave it to me. And the day my Ma saved up and took me and my little brother Mikey to the zoo. I think I was ten and he was eight. We spent the whole day watching the animals, in pure bliss. Oh, and I never forgot the day I graduated from the Police Academy. I remember putting on my freshly starched, new uniform, adjusting my hat in the small locker room mirror. I was a cop, finally. My Ma could be proud of me. That day was great.

Then I have those bad days that I try hard to forget, but I still remember. They still nag at the back of my mind, the days my dad came home drunk and beat my mom. The first time I was shot. The day that Bobby, the paramedic, died. The day Glen Hobart held a gun to my head. The day that Faith told me about her cancer-I can still see that look on her face. I remember the day I got hit by a stupid exploding dye bag...yeah, that's right, a dye bag. I had a panic attack; I can still feel my chest tightening, my breath being cut off. I honestly thought I was having a heart attack and was going to die. It scared the living daylights out of me. I don't want to remember any of this stuff, but it stays with you, reminding you that bad stuff happens, and it will happen again. 

And then there was That Day. I don't know what else to call it, I don't remember the dates or anything, so to me it's: That Day. But I remember every detail of it like it just happened.

****

That Day started out just like any other day: I woke up this morning around 11, rolled out of bed, took a shower, and got dressed. Routine. I ate a bowl-full of Froot Loops, I like them nice and soggy, don't ask me why... and yes, even though I'm a grown man, I still eat Froot Loops. I always have.

Later, I drive to the Station House 55 - where I work - in my beautiful Mustang, my pride and joy. There are no parking spaces left, so I have to park on the grass that lines the lot. Well, actually it isn't grass, its snow. Thick, deep, icy snow. It's the dead of winter here in New York City and really, really frigid cold out. I start to get pissed off at having to park in the snow, but then I realize the parking spaces aren't much better. At least six inches of snow had fallen during the night. 

I find my partner, Faith Yokas, in the locker room with about twenty other cops. They are all on my shift, the Third Watch. Most of them are already dressed and leaving for the roll call room. Faith is ready, of course, and standing to the side with her navy NYPD hat in her hands. 

She notices me and gives me a quick half-frown as she smoothes her ponytail out in the mirror. "You'd better hurry, Bosco, or you're going to be late...again." 

I pretend not to notice the way she emphasized 'again'. So, maybe I've been late a few times before. What's the big deal? 

I tear off my many layers of clothes hurriedly. My hat, scarf, gloves, coat, sweater, and shirt make a lumpy pile on the bench next to me, leaving me dressed in my undershirt and pants. Geez, it's cold enough in here to freeze the balls off a brass monkey! I can feel goose bumps pop out all over my arms.

Faith just sighs at me and begins to throw my clothes into my locker. She must realize that I won't have enough time to get dressed and put them away. I supposed I should thank her... "Thanks," I throw over my shoulder.

I reach for my Kevlar vest, pull it on over my head and adjust the Velcro straps. The same kind of vest that had saved my life more then once-I had learned to trust it by now. It was heavy and uncomfortable at first, but you get used to it _real_ quick. You have to. 

Then I have the strangest feeling. A cold, icy shudder zips through my body, and for a fleeting second, I lose all trust I have in that vest. It's like a forewarning or something - a premonition of some sort, I guess. Weird. 

Of course, I don't give that stupid feeling any credence and write it off to a draft in the room. But in that one, brief second I knew something was wrong. I can't get that off of my mind.

"Bosco?" Faith has finished putting away my clothes and is now staring at me curiously. I guess I must have some blank stare on my face or something, at least that's what she tells me after I snap out of it. 

Faith takes off for roll call and then I glance at the clock and realize I have less then three minutes left before Sergeant Christopher awards me another disciplinary. I most certainly don't want another one of those, not from him, anyway. I quickly scramble into the rest of my uniform and half-walk, half-run down the hall to the roll call room. 

Swersky barely notices me as I slip into the nearest empty seat. I think he's gotten used to the usual Boscorelli entrance - me running in, out of breath, with less then 30 seconds to spare. I am pleased with myself, though, for avoiding another reprimand. I'm sure that jag-off, Christopher, wanted to tell me a thing or two though, and he glares at me the whole damn roll call as if I'd killed his mother or somethin'. I just grin smugly at him, because hey, they can't yell at you if you didn't do anything wrong. 

Fifteen minutes later, I realize that I have paid a little to much attention to the glowering Christopher and I haven't heard much of what the Lieutenant had briefed us on. Usually nothing much worth listening too anyway. I guess Faith will tell me if I need to know anything

Lucky for me, Faith is in a relatively good mood today and she isn't snapping at me anymore like yesterday. Heck, she even let me drive on her day. She calls in our 10-98 and we take off to rid the city of crime. 

I am so ready to kick some ass.

********** 

The next hour or so we spend running our engine, parked to the side of North 18th St., patiently waiting for our first call. Faith insisted on stopping for coffee, so I found the nearest 7-11. The coffee here is cheap and I'd rather pay 64 cents then the four dollars they charge at those fancy-schmancy coffee shops. Unfortunately, the price of the coffee really reflects on the taste. 

"Gross!" I sputter after I've downed the first sip. Although it was warm enough for my liking, it tasted like the coffee had been filtered through a dirty gym sock. I roll my window down and splash out the remainder of the so-called 'coffee' onto the frozen sidewalk. "Ugh, that was so nasty."

Faith just rolls her eyes at me, like I'm one of her kids. I hate it when she does that. Yeah, I know I can be a little "less mature" then she is sometimes, but damn, I don't want to be all serious and boring or nothin' - too many high-and-mighty pricks out there already. Faith needs to learn to live a little; she spends way too much time in "mommy mode". 

I guess her coffee is okay, because she keeps sipping away at it. "I can't believe you're actually drinkin' that stuff." I mutter to her, disgusted. The nasty gym sock-taste still lingers in my mouth. 

"Yeah, well, it isn't that bad. I've had worse." She purposely takes another long sip, as if trying to prove her point. Okay, I get it; so she can obviously handle the sock coffee, maybe she even likes it. I really don't care. 

The radio on the dash sputters some static before the dispatcher's loud, scratchy voice blares out. "Central to 55-David, we have reports of a domestic dispute at 1217 Monroe." 

55-David; that's us. We must be the closest cruiser to the call and the address is only two blocks up the street. Damn, I hate Domestics. They are such a waste of my time. Faith knows I hate them - she does too, but not as much as I do; I'm sure of that. 

See, what she doesn't know is that I can't stand to see guys beating up their women. Reminds me too much of my own family, what used to happen when I was a kid. My dad was a flaming drunk and would come home almost every night, reeking' like a whisky still, and take out his frustrations on my Ma. Sometimes he took out after my brother and me, but mostly he just liked to hit Ma. 

Mikey and me stopped trying to protect her after a while, but only after our father locked me in a pitch-black closet for a whole night for hitting him back. At the time, Mikey was too little to do anything, so I tried to help. Imagine that: an eleven year old taking on a drunken, full-grown man...bad idea. I still have a scar on my forehead from the beer bottle that he launched at my head that night. I still have problems with the dark too. I get freaked out whenever it's too dark and I can't see anything, my mind taking me back to that night and the total helpless feelings of panic haunt me. 

It was a long time ago, but I hate thinking about it, you know, drudges up bad feelings. So, obviously Domestics aren't my favorite part of the job. I guess you'd think that I took up the job to help keep that stuff from happening, but the truth is far from that and much more selfish.

I signed up 'cause if I weren't a cop, I know I'd be a drug dealer or in jail for something, and I was scared to death of that. 

Faith points out the building as we drive up, a shabby, rundown old place. I park quickly by the curb. Not a great parking job at all, but I'm a cop and can park however the hell I want. Faith doesn't seem to notice the uneven slant of the car; she is very used to my methods. 

I hop out of the car and follow her into the ramshackle building. The door creaks noisily as she pushes it open and the strong scent of, well, I don't actually know what it is, but whatever it is - it smells like body odor and dog pee. I try to hold my breath but it's too strong and I can taste almost it as I breathe through my mouth, all thick and muggy. 

Great, my day is just chock-full of wonderful stuff - sock coffee, B.O., and dog pee. Yuck.

We jog up the stars pretty quick. Faith isn't quite as fast as me, but she's a girl and I'm in much better shape. We can hear yelling coming from down the dim hall, the smell of doggie pee now replaced with the lovely scent of wet mold. 

Faith marches right up to the puke-green painted door containing the noisy shrieks and pounds on it with her fist. "Police!" she yells, but they must not have heard, because they keep right on at it. 

Actually, now that I think about it, there's only one voice - a man's. 

I was right... another wife-beater. Should I be surprised? 

Faith's fist pounds again, this time a little louder. _Com'on people, just open the damn door..._ I roll my eyes, annoyed. I'm ready to give this jag-off a piece of my mind. 

Nope, nothing changes; the guy is still loudly cussing someone out, hollering four letter words. I move my right hand to my gun, out of habit, I guess. This time I yell - maybe my voice will carry better, "Hey! Open up! Police!"

Nothing. Okay, jag-off, three strikes and you're out. 

I move back and nod at Faith as she steps to the side of the door with her gun drawn. 

Now here's one part of the job I like - kicking in doors. Don't ask me why, I just love the feeling of my foot hitting the door, the sound of the lock popping open, and the rush I get because I'm allowed to do it; no wait, I'm supposed to do it. Yep, mighty cool.

I swing my foot back and kick that ugly green door with a vicious strike. This time was just as fun, and the wood even splintered a little. Nice. 

"Police!" Faith yells again as she moves in, her gun lowered now. 

The surprised look of the man standing in the center of the room is great. Priceless, really. I try not to chuckle at the deer-in-headlights, blank stare and open mouth combo. His wide eyes narrow a second later when he realizes who the hell just busted his door down. 

"Yeah, and we would be the police," I remark snidely and point to my badge, keeping my gun leveled on the sucker. "See the badge? We come when you beat your woman, or when you just make too much damn noise. Today you did both, so two of us came. You got the two-for-one deal, buddy - you should be proud of your sorry self."

Poor Wife-beater-guy looks confused. How can he be confused? I spelled it out for him, plain and simple. He probably fried his brain on drugs. I shake my head in disgust. I wonder how many times I'd have to shoot up to do that much damage... 

I don't let my thoughts linger on him though, and I quickly assess the situation while Faith gets behind the guy and points her gun at him. 

A woman is in the corner, her eyes are black and blue with dark bruises and her face is bleeding from a cut on her forehead. I move across the room to help her out. "You okay, Ma'am?" I ask. 

She looks up at me and I freeze in my tracks, surprised and disturbed at the same time. God, she looks just like Ma... For a second, I could have sworn it was her. My mind whirls, threatening horrible memories and graphic images. I struggle against a flashback, blinking my eyes a few times and shaking my head.

The lady is sobbing into her hand now, and her flowered dress was ripped in a few places, exposing her chest a bit. I avert my gaze, instead looking up into her eyes. They are deep blue - same as Ma's. 

Damn, it is getting harder to ward off those bad memories. My heart is pounding in my chest and I'm starting to sweat. _Please stop_, I beg silently. _I don't need another panic attack. Not now._

I hold my breath for a few seconds in an effort to calm the crazy beating of my heart as I keep up a constant patter of encouragement in my head. _Okay, you're fine. Just need to take care of business here. Calm down, Boscorelli, and do your job_, I tell myself. 

I really am hating this right now. 

"Hey, are you alright?" I hear myself ask the frightened lady again - my training automatically kicking back in. "You okay?" 

She nods her head a few times, and I help her up off the floor. Her hand in mine feels so small and fragile, sort of like the way she must be feeling right now. I grab my shoulder radio and order for an ambulance, "Central this is 55-David, uh, requesting a bus at this location." 

"10-4, 55-David," it squawks back, the dispatchers voice scratchy.

Faith has been talking to the guy for a few minutes, reading him his rights and stuff, but I must have been totally zoning her out because I didn't hear one word of it. She has him in cuffs now; I assume he will be charged for this mess considering what the poor woman looks like. What, with all her bruises and cuts it is obvious who had been the aggressor - pretty cut and dried for a domestic. This one will be quick, fortunately for me.

And everything would have been fine, gone really smooth, we would have brought them both in nice and easy and been back out on the streets within a half-hour. I would have been able to put this all aside, easy. 

We weren't counting on one thing, though. 

Mr. Wife-beater here decides to get smart on us. He must have picked up on the fact that I want to get this over as soon as possible, maybe he sees the panic I am feeling right now - I don't know. Whatever it is, he decides to react. 

So he rears back, and before I know it Wife-beater kicks my left leg hard and then spits right in my face - a big, slimy wad of saliva. 

Oh...gross. I feel like vomiting. 

I wipe my face on my upper-arm sleeve and the wetness soaks through the fabric, a cold, disgusting glob of his mucus discharge. I hesitate for a second as I struggle to ignore the vileness. My stomach is rebelling against my efforts to retain my breakfast._ Oh, shit. Oh, man. Don't throw up...don't throw up..._ I swallow hard and take a deep breath. 

I wait a few seconds and after the initial totally disgusted feelings wear off a bit, I get really, really mad. On the verge of livid, I think. My hands curl into fists and I can feel my adrenalin rush. 

Okay, now here comes the big choice: Do I hit the guy and try to kill him, or just wipe off the spit and book the guy? Ha! If you thought for one second I'd even consider option number two, you're out of your mind. 

I lay into the guy, my clenched fist nearly drilling a hole right through his gut, then I knee him right where it counts. He doubles over in agony, but I haven't even gotten started yet.

"That's for beating your wife, you jag-off!" I scream at him. I am so mad at this sucker right now; I really think I could kill him. 

Faith is trying to pull me away, but like I said before, I'm a lot stronger then her. I nail him in the face and push him so violently that he falls onto his back on the floor. His head makes a loud "klunk" as it smacks against the ground and he yelps in pain when he lands on his cuffed hands - very satisfying, but not satisfying enough. 

I start boxing his ears and punching his face, pounding again and again. My vision starts blurring into a haze of pent-up fury and my heartbeat pulses even faster as images of my past swim before me. I think I've lost touch with reality for a moment as it morphs into the terrible past. The woman is my mother, the man is... My stomach revolts again.

Frozen snapshots of his battered wife and my Ma's bruised face stream through my head and I can't stop beating him, trying to get revenge for all those nights... Punch after punch fall, my clenched fists are starting to ache from the force, but the only thing I can see, hear and feel is my father's face, laughing at me. 

"Bosco! Stop it!" Faith finally manages to get a good grasp on my collar and yanks me back as hard as she can. She really didn't need to pull that hard because she caught me off-balance and my feet immediately shoot out from underneath me, making me land hard on my bottom and bringing me quickly back to the present. 

I shake my head, dispersing the rest of the horrifying, blurry haze to wherever it came from. My hands are shaking and my chest is heaving from the effort and the impending panic attack. I glance up at Faith, still in a rage but almost embarrassed at what I just did. I'm grateful that she stopped me, though - I was starting to scare myself. 

On the other hand, I can't let on that I am kind of relieved, so I get up on to my feet and kick the guy really hard in his side. He doubles into a fetal position and moans. 

"And that's for spittin' on me," I bend over and yell right in his sniveling face. I think I made my point. 

The guy looks like he's going to cry. I worked him over real good. He'll think twice before laying a hand on his wife again... or so I'd like to believe. He'll probably forget this by tomorrow. Bastard.

Faith hauls him up to his feet and scowls at me, shaking her head disapprovingly. That face means I'm going to get another lecture later. I just glare back at her.

Great. My day sucks so far. 

Remind me why I became a cop again?

**********

TBC... Tell me what you think...please?


	2. Pistol Opera

**That Day**

Pistol Opera

Disclaimer: Still don't own the characters. I'll get over it.

A/N: Wow! Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I couldn't believe that you all like this fic so much. It's really hard to write in first person, especially Bosco, and I was hesitant to post this, thinking that perhaps I had written him wrong. I'm glad you think I did a decant job! Here's the latest addition, enjoy! 

**********

I was right. I'm gonna get a lecture.

Faith just finished booking the wife-beating-spit-spewing jag-off, and I am so ready to get back out on the streets. I don't really like being at the station - too confining. I watch half-interestedly as Swersky and Christopher talk with some detectives; whatever it is they are talking about looks pretty serious.

Swersky is cool - he's a great boss, but Christopher, now he's just a big ass. He loves to get under my skin. He knows all the right buttons to push, and boy, does he push them. Plus, he's my superior so I can't say too much back to him. I have to get really creative sometimes, and fortunately, he's about as smart as a monkey, so sometimes I can insult him and he doesn't get it for a while. 

Faith is pulling at my arm, "Com'on." She doesn't look too mad, good. Maybe she'll let this one go...yeah, I'd like to think that. I never get away with anything.

We get back into our RMP and only drive about half-a-block away before she starts._ Here we go..._

"Bosco, you can't do that stuff anymore. You're liable to get us sued, and I can't afford that. Just stick to your job. You don't have to go off your rocker every time someone gets in your face." Her tone is brisk - she's mad. I've seen worse, though.

"He kicked me and spit in my face! What did you want me to do, Faith? Let him get away with it? I don't think so. Besides, he beat that woman. You beat a woman and you get an ass-kickin', plain and simple," I answer shortly because she's starting to piss me off. 

I want to tell her what really was happening, but I'm still freaked out myself and I don't even want to think about it. The fact that I can't and won't tell her what happened is pissing me off. I'm just pissed off right now. I hope she doesn't keep pushing or I might say something I'll regret.

"Bosco, I know he beat her up, but you need to let it go. He'll get it in jail days. Don't risk my ass just because you wanna prove a point, or be all masculine or somthin'. It's not worth it to me." She rolls her eyes again and stares out the window. 

I just shake my head; she'll probably never understand me and my ways. Hell, I barely understand myself half the time. Damn, I'm screwed up. 

Dispatch radios in again, "All available units of the 55, we have reports of a bank robbery in progress, 2470 Montgomery."

Huh, finally some action. We haven't had any good calls in a week. Not that I like bank robberies or anything, it's just that that kind of stuff is way more interesting then the normal, everyday Domestics and ticket writing. You know, the kind of stuff I signed up for in the first place. Faith doesn't like all of the action so much, but I guess that has something to do with her being a girl, or maybe it's because she has a family to worry about. 

I'm all alone, so I don't really care. Bring it on. 

I grab my shoulder radio and confirm, "Central, 55-David, 2470 Montgomery."

**********

We pull up to the bank less then three minutes later but we aren't the first on the scene. 55-Charlie is there already, its lights flashing red and blue against the gray sky. Sullivan and Davis are already out of their squad and kneeling behind it. They're pointing their guns at the bank's glass windows.

I quickly hop out of our RMP and, half-crouching and bent over in sort of a duck walk, I make my way over to Davis. I'm sure I must look ridiculous right now, but I'd rather look like a mutant duck-man than get my head blown clear off my shoulders. 

"Hey, what's goin' on?" I ask Davis quietly as I pull my 9 from my gun belt. I unlock the safety and rub the right side of the barrel with my thumb for good luck, a superstitious habit. 

"Two guys in there and they're armed and holding hostages," Davis rattles off. He keeps his gun trained on the building and I follow his sights though the plate-glass windows. 

Yep, I can see them. Two black-masked morons armed with guns big enough to be Uzis. They look upset and are swinging those guns around. _Probably mad that we showed up so quickly._ I smirk at the thought. 

Sully is yelling through his bullhorn for them to surrender, but they pretty much refuse to acknowledge us and our weak attempt to negotiate. I would too - Sully is really bad at negotiating. The whole "You're surrounded. Put your hands on your head and come out slowly" bit just doesn't cut the cake anymore. We should shoot the lowlives. Bullets speak louder than words.

Okay, yeah, they don't buy it. They just keep on yelling and swinging those Uzi-guns around. 

Well, actually, now that I look harder I can see that their "Uzi-guns" are only sawed-off shotguns. Cheap, sawed-off shotguns. No wonder they were robbing the bank - I would too if I was only sporting ten cents worth of scrap-metal. I shake my head and frown. 

So, we crouch there for about fifteen more seconds before one of those cheap morons starts firing. At what, I have no idea, but I can hear people screaming inside. We all drop to the ground instinctively and I can feel the cold ice burn my ungloved hands like pins and needles. For a fleeting second I wonder where I left my gloves. _Oh, that's right, I took them off when I drove in._ I never wear gloves when I have to use my gun, because the extra cloth covering my fingers makes squeezing the trigger hard to manage. 

"He shot a hostage!" Sully yells from behind his squad, startling me. He is screaming into his mike for backup, wherever the hell they are. Faith also is radioing in, he head tilted towards her shoulder CB. "Central, shots fired at this location. Where the hell is ESU?" 

I pick myself up and peer over the squad, looking intently into the bank. Shit... They shot some lady in the chest; her bloodied body is strewn across the floor in a haphazard position. I gulp back the nervous lump forming in my throat. 

I try and think, try and formulate a plan. I'm pretty sure they won't do anything else as equally stupid. I mean, come on... shooting a hostage right in front of four cops? If they try anything else, they're dumber than I thought. 

Well, I guess shooting one hostage isn't enough gore for those two blood-mongers, because now I can see Cheap-shot Moron Number One holding his gun to some young guy's head. 

Oh, great...

He fires, point-blank range. Reflex makes my eyes squeeze shut at the blast, but I force them open again. My stomach turns as I watch the poor guy's brains get blown all over the place. The windows of the bank are now covered in blood and brain matter and it's harder to see inside. I squint and try to ignore the wet, dripping mess. Shit... that's just wrong

The terrified people held inside are screaming so loud it's starting to hurt my ears. The robber-guy starts waving around his gun again and levels it on a little old lady. She's trembling and clutching her little purse in her hands, whispering something to the guy - pleading it looks like. _God, I can't watch this..._

My sinking feelings of despair quickly turn to anger. I clench my teeth so hard that my jaw hurts and cock my gun. My eyes narrow as they glare at the antagonists inside. 

Son-of-a-bitch... Okay, that's enough - you've gone _way_ too far, jag-off! You don't shoot old ladies. 

Unfortunately, my angry reaction is faster then my ability to conjure up a plan. I think frantically. _What do I do? What the hell do I do?_ I know we usually are supposed to wait on ESU, but they will probably take another five minutes that we don't have. God, they are so slow sometimes.

The guy inside cocks the shotgun at poor Granny, who is now crying hysterically. I can't stand here anymore doing nothing. 

As usual, I don't take a whole lot of time to think about what I'm going to do - I just react. Now, I know that sounds really stupid, but it works in this job. See, if you think about everything and all the consequences, you'll most likely spend the whole time crouched behind your RMP doing nothing. So, I usually just go, and it's worked for me so far. 

I run out from behind the cruiser and up to the corner of the bank where I know they can't hit me. The perps fire at me as I run, but I'm really fast and they're really bad shots - well, long-range at least. None of their bullets even came close to hitting me. The glass from the smashed and splintered windows sprays all around my feet and nearly reaches the squads as it scatters.

I can hear Faith's high-pitched screams for me to get back, but I ignore her and take a deep breath - time for part two of my hastily concocted plan. 

Here we go...one...two...three!

I turn and shove my boot through the glass door so it shatters, then duck back around the corner again. More shots, but they are still aimed me and not at the hostages, so that's good. A bullet whizzes right by my left ear and the corner of the building chips away with it. Concrete powder sprays all over me and my ear buzzes and rings from the noisy blast. Instinctively, I cover my ear with my hand and wince at the sharp pain. 

Finally, the morons stop firing and I think I hear the clicking of an empty gun - I can hardly tell over all of the damn ringing in my head. Maybe I got lucky and they ran out of ammo. 

No such luck. I can hear them snapping new clips in. Shit. 

Snap decision: I can go now, while they have their guns down... Okay, sounds good. I whirl around the corner again and fire high, over the hostages that are pressed to the floor. My gun goes off twice as I make one of those crazy dives for the ground, you know, the kind you see in movies where the guy shoots as he takes a flying leap. 

I can't see anything clearly as I fly though the air, but as I fall I can clearly hear Faith screaming my name over and over. I don't pay much heed; my mind is focused exclusively on one thing... 

Did I hit them? 

I strike the ground with a hard thud and disregard the throbbing pain in my side as I roll over behind 55-Charlie. Sully is back there and staring at me like I'm crazy, his mouth hanging open in shock. After a moment, his gaping mouth finally decides to work, "What the hell was that, Bosco? You trying to get yourself killed?" he yells as he grabs my arm and yanks me farther behind the car.

_Yeah, Sully, I'm trying to kill myself - but I wanted to go out in a blaze of glory instead of popping pills or eating a bullet._ Whatever.

I just ignore him as I scramble to get up and peer over the hood. Holy shit! I hit the guy!

Moron Number One is lying on the floor, twisted up in pain. Moron Number Two looks really freaked out and fires twice in Faith's direction. I see Davis out of the corner of my eye; he pops his head up from behind my cruiser and fires back. I guess he must have moved for a better line of fire, because he has a much clearer shot from over there.

Bang! His gun goes off and the second guy hits the ground. Nice shot. 

Davis looks a little shocked for a second, like he can't believe he actually hit the guy, before he regains his composure and runs in the bank after Sully, who took off as soon as he saw the guy hit the ground. 

I catch my breath for a moment and re-cock my gun. My ear is still ringing and my hands are shaking from the stimulation. I can literally feel my blood rushing through me as I try not to think about what the hell I actually just did. 

I hear loud yelling and the crunching sound of shoes running on broken glass as five or six frightened people come running out of the bank with their hands held over their heads protectively. 

I run up and grab the little old granny lady by her arm and hurry her back behind the RMP. She's trembling and crying and her hand is bleeding from a glass cut, but she otherwise looks unharmed. "Are you okay?" I ask her, she just sobs and nods her head. I help her to sit against the cruiser and motion for her to not to move, "Stay right here, okay?" 

Faith pulls a middle-aged couple back and tells them to stay put. I run into the building with my heart pulsing with the intensity of the moment. 

Glass grits under my boots as I walk in to the damaged bank and take a long look. 

Sully and Davis are quick; they have the two guys cuffed, but from the looks of things they didn't really have to do that. They aren't going anywhere any time soon. The guy I downed is bleeding profusely from a shot to the stomach and the other guy has a nice clean shot to his upper leg. The blood on the floor is making an ugly, red puddle around them. 

I glare at the now de-masked skels for a moment before I recognize the guy I shot and his partner. Their mug shots have been pasted up on the station's New York's Most Wanted board for months. I feel my heart rate quicken as I realize that I've just taken out a wanted felon... Damn, what a rush!

"You got them?" I ask Davis, wiping the pleased grin off on my face and switching back to business-mode.

"Yeah." He glances over to his right and I turn to see what he looking at. 

Oh. The poor guy that got his brains blown out. I swallow the sudden bitter taste in my mouth and glare at the two groaning men at my feet. Disgusting waste of oxygen, if you ask me. Those two deserve to die. 

I nudge "my" guy harshly with my foot and glower at him when he whines in pain, "Oh, shut up, you filthy animal!" I bark at him. I sound really pissed, and I am, but I'm still really satisfied with myself for that beautiful shot. All of those hours I've spent practicing at the shooting range have really paid off.

Sirens grow loud in the background, a high-pitched wail. ESU, finally. Their lights are flashing brightly as they pull up. A whole team of black-armor clad no-shows jumps out the back of the big trucks and moves in fast. Uh, guys, you're a little late... 

"Gee, so nice of you fellas to show up," I remark smartly to one of the lower-ranked peons as he runs in with his gun up and swinging around the room. He ignores me and shouts to the other guys to "secure" the area. I resist the urge to tell them that we have already done that.

"You might want to take a good look at these characters - recognize their ugly mugs?" I suggest to their Sergeant as I point to the squirming pigs we shot, hoping they will realize what we've accomplished without their expertise. "Davis and I took 'um out after they started shootin' up the place."

The Serge nods at me stoically. I guess that means "Good job"? Gee, thanks... I'm not looking for a pat on the back or anything, but hey, give me my props at least.

I move out of the way to the wall and stand there fiddling with my gun. Its silver barrel is still hot from firing. I replace it into its holster after I relock the safety. 

I look around for Faith, wondering where she is. Ten or twelve of the ESU guys are milling around in the bank now; their huge, macho-sized guns raised in offensive position. A number of them loudly shout out, "Clear!" 

Okay, guys, duh... I shake my head and smirk at them. They can act so superior sometimes, completely disregarding what us "lowly beat-cops" do. Whatever, I'll let them do their job. I'm riding high and won't let their grandstanding bother me today.

An ambulance rolls up and Doc Parker and Carlos Nieto run up with their hands full of their medical bags. "What we have here?" Doc asks loudly to no one in particular and kneels down next to the whimpering robber-boys. 

"These two are the shooters, make sure you keep them locked up," Davis tells the paramedics as he points to their cuffs. "We bagged ourselves some "criminals at large", you could say." From the slight change in the tone of his voice, I can tell Ty's as pleased as I am. He should be, he got in a great shot. 

Carlos is checking on the young guy that ate the bullet. "Ugh," he mutters when he sees the mess that used to be his head. "Uh, this one's DOA," he tells Doc, and then moves over to the guy Davis shot. 

At this point, there are way too many people in the small bank so I make my way back outside. They don't need me in there anymore. 

Outside, Faith is comforting the little old granny lady and pressing gauze on her bleeding hand. She glares at me and starts yelling, "Bosco, what the hell did you think you were doing?"

Geez, am I the only one that gets yelled at around here? 

"They were shooting hostages!" I spit back at her, annoyed. 

"So you just run out in front of them? Are you crazy?" she rants.

"Yeah, Faith, I'm crazy." I reply as sarcastically as I can manage. "They were gonna kill them all! What did you want me to do? Sit there and watch? _You're_ the one that's crazy."

I guess now is not the time to brag about bagging the "Most Wanted poster-boys". Later. 

I lean up against our cruiser with my arms crossed angrily across my chest and watch the swarming bank. Doc and Carlos are on their way out with the two guys laid out on backboards. ESU is helping carry them out and Sully and Davis are holding their IV bags up for them. I don't move to help. Hey, Sully and Davis can help all they want but there ain't no way I'm going to pitch in to save those two scumbags. I shot at them for a reason.

Another bus pulls up. Kim Zambrano and Alex Taylor get out and start working on the hostages. They tend to Granny first - I guess she was hurt the worst of all the hostages, well, if you don't count the young guy and the women that got killed. I'm just glad that there aren't any more casualties.

Faith, realizing that she isn't needed anymore, stands up and joins me by our RMP. I am still angry with her, so I ignore her and continue to watch the medics work, as if they are interesting - which they aren't. 

"Bos," she points at my crossed arms, "You're bleedin'." 

I look down, and sure enough, there's blood coming out from under my sleeve. I pull at my cuff and look for the cut or whatever is bleeding. I can't see where it's coming from, must be farther up my arm. 

"Here, lemme see." Faith unbuttons my cuff and rolls the sleeve up a few inches. Ah, there it is. The bit of glass must have pushed through my sleeve when I made that awesome dive. It's still lodged in there and it's starting to smart. Ouch.

"Aww, its just a scratch," I brush it off. 

This kind of stuff happens all the time; it's part of the job. It's certainly not the first time I've gotten hurt. I've had so much stuff happen to me on the job that the nurses at the hospital joke about setting up a ward just for me. It probably wouldn't be such a bad idea. 

"You should have Kim look at that," Faith comments wryly. 

I open my mouth to argue, but realize that I don't want to pull the glass out myself - been there, done that, _not_ a pretty picture. So I begrudgingly agree, "Fine, whatever."

Kim had the piece out in a minute and made what looks like a big Band-Aid out of a square of gauze and some medical tape. The cut isn't too deep, so I don't need stitches or anything. I'm glad, because if I get too badly hurt Christopher or Swersky will put me on desk duty. I hate desk duty. 

Lieutenant Swersky shows up a few minutes later and starts asking questions. A lot of questions. First, to Sully and Davis; then to Faith and I. 

I guess he isn't too happy about how the whole thing went down. We should have waited for ESU, he tells us, but I can tell he isn't really upset about it. He has to say that stuff, has to keep us following the rules, protocol. But he's a cop too and he knows that sometimes you can't follow procedure. Today is one of those times. Plus, the little extra fact that we nailed two of the city's most notorious felons must have helped. 

"Boscorelli," he says, without a reprimand for our actions, "I'll need you to take your gun in to ballistics." 

"Yeah, sure, Boss," I answer. 

This is routine. If you fire your gun you got to report in and show your gun to the ballistic specialists. They can tell who shot who and stuff, so they know just what happened. Usually takes about an hour, so Faith and I fill out paperwork in the spare time. 

Yippee for me, I hate paperwork.

**********

TBC... more action and angst to come, hit me with a review!


	3. No Rest For The Wicked

**That Day**

No Rest For The Wicked 

A/N: Thank you guys **so** much for all of your reviews - every single one made my day! I know I promised angst, but the really super-angsty stuff is later on in the story. Trust me. 

********** 

I adjust my gun belt and slip back behind the wheel of the cruiser. Home sweet home. 

We spent the last hour or so waiting on the ballistics guys to process my weapon. Faith and I wrote up the paperwork for the earlier domestic and got halfway through the shootout report before they were done. Lieu brought me my gun back, loaded and ready, and then told us to "Get back out there". Boy, was I more then happy to leave my desk. 

Faith gets in on her side and slams the door noisily, an unhappy expression on her face. 

"You mad about somthin'?" I ask her half-interested as I key the ignition. If she's going to be pissy all day I at least want to know why. 

"No," she says quietly and leans her head against the window. "I'm just tired of losin' people on the job, that's all." 

I know what she means. I still can't get the sick image of the shooting out of my head. The sight of the guy's brains splattering up against the window, all thick and lumpy and gooey... well, let's just say that I really could use a beer right now. 

"Yeah, I know," I mumble. I can't really say anything else because there's really nothing to say. We see this kind of stuff all the time. They say you get used to it, but I guess there's something wrong with us because we never do. We just go home at the end of the day and try to forget about it - and believe me, it ain't easy. 

I rake my fingers through my hair and frown. I'm starting to feel really guilty about losing those two people. My mind reels, asking questions that I don't want to think. If I had ran out earlier, would they still be alive? If I hadn't hesitated, if I hadn't waited... maybe we could have saved them too.... Damn, I just sat there and watched. I just sat there... 

Wait._ I need to stop second-guessing myself. I did what I did. God, there are way too many "what ifs" in this job... I could spend my whole life feeling guilty. I didn't kill those people. It's not my fault. _ I tell myself, trying to talk myself out of the guilt. 

Unfortunately it doesn't work at all. I still feel really crappy and responsible. 

This day really sucked before, and now I have guilt. Great. 

I glance at the dashboard clock. 5:32 pm. Maybe a break will help. We usually eat lunch around this time and I'm starting to get hungry. "Hey, you wanna stop for a bite?" I ask. 

I don't care what Faith says because I'll stop anyway, but if she does want to stop, she'll want a say at where we go. 

"Sure," Faith shrugs apathetically. "What do ya feel like?" 

I see our favorite diner up ahead. "How about Angel's?" 

"Yeah, that sounds fine." 

I pull into the tiny parking lot, my mouth watering at the thought of a nice, juicy burger. I guess I'm hungrier than I thought. 

Inside, the smells of the diner are almost overpoweringly good and I don't hesitate to slide into one of the barstools that line the counter. Faith grabs the one next to me and pulls a menu out of the stack to the side. 

I love this place; it's so retro - straight from the 60's. The owner, Angel, is a good man. If we have to leave mid-meal for a call he doesn't make us pay up. Says it's the least he can do for the people that keep his family safe. We don't take advantage of the offer too often, though - we like his food and want to keep him in business. 

"Hey Angel!" I call him over, "How's it goin', man?" 

Angel smiles and motions to the hordes of people filling booths that line the walls. "How's it look?" 

I grin at him, "Looks like you're keepin' busy." 

"Yessuree," he grins. "Now what can I get you, Officers?" 

I order my usual burger and fries, and Faith gets a salad of some sort. I have no idea how she can choose a salad over a burger - a burger from Angel's, no less. Salads are like eating weeds and grass with dressing, if you ask me. Bunny food. I never understood what the whole big deal is about them. I guess they have less calories then real food. Maybe Faith is on a diet. 

I inconspicuously take a good look at her uniformed body. She's always been in okay shape and doesn't look any fatter to me. 

Faith notices me sizing her up. "What?" she asks smartly as she scowls at me disapprovingly. Pissy, pissy, pissy... 

I shake my head, "Nothin'." 

Geez, she's in a bad mood today. Maybe she's having problems with Fred again. Whatever, I don't need to worry about her personal life. I have my own problems. 

"Hey guys." Davis slides into the seat to my right. "Crazy day today, huh?" he comments with a wicked smile. 

"Yeah, and it isn't even half over," Faith remarks dryly with a smirk. 

Sully sits down next to her and unzips his coat. "Lucky us..." he mutters. He _would_ be complaining. Sully's old and doesn't appreciate the action like me and Davis. I think he'd be content to write tickets and break up bar brawls for the rest of his life. Me? I'm the kind of guy that looks forward to the intense shootouts and high-speed car chases. Don't ask me why, but love I hunting down and nailing the bad guys. The more they run or put up a fight, the better - I like a good fight before I throw their sorry asses in jail. Makes it so much more satisfying when I see their sniveling faces behind bars. 

Davis turns towards me, "Nice shot you got in today, Bos. You really took those guys by surprise." 

Faith rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Yeah, Bosco, they were like, "Oh, look! Target practice!"" she says sarcastically in a mimicked man's-voice. 

Good grief, she's still ticked about that? Why? Is she jealous? After all, it was a nice shot... 

"What?" I spit back, irritated. She should be complimenting me, not making fun of me. Her negative comments are making the guilt come back again, full force. My chest is begging to feel tight and my stomach uneasy. _Shit, Faith, why'd you have to go and do that? _ "Look, someone needed to do somethin' and I wasn't about to stand around and wait to see what would happen if I didn't. So just drop it!" 

"Whatever," she shrugs. "Just next time you think about making yourself a movin' target, take a second to let your testosterone level drop a bit." 

Sully chuckles at this and shakes his head, as if it's funny or something. Faith shoots him a knowing look. I recognize that look - it's the "I-know-how-it-is" look that they give each other when they refer to me and Davis. Mostly comes after we do something really risky or dangerous. Last time they 'shared' that look was after Davis took a chance and ran into a burning building after a kid. Personally, that was a little on the crazy side, even for my standards, but the kid that he saved lived and I respect Ty for what he did. I think Faith and Sully do too, they just don't know how to deal with us risk-takers. 

"Hey, he got the job done, right?" Ty sticks up for me. "Nobody else got hurt and we got the shooters, that's all that matters." 

"Damn right," I mutter angrily and take a big bite of my hamburger. Usually Ty's peacemaking and sucking-up bother me, but today he's sticking up for me. _Smart move, Davis, _ I think silently. _You don't want to be on my bad side. Not today, at least. _

"Central to 55-David, we have reports of a vandalism at 4501 Beggs," my portable radio blares right in my ear. My left ear rings again for a few seconds, even after the dispatcher shuts up. 

Damn, I forgot to lower the volume after the whole bank fiasco when I had to turn it up to hear over all of the shooting. The shrill ringing in my ear is kind of making me worried. I hope that gunshot earlier didn't do permanent damage to it... 

"Awww, com'on," I moan. "Just when I get to eat my damn lunch..." We officially took our break only fifteen minutes ago. I really want to finish my hamburger, so I snatch it up and wrap it in a paper napkin. 

Sully looks happy. He should be - he gets to stay and finish his meal. He's really starting to get on my nerves... 

Faith sighs and takes the call, "10-4, Central. 4501 Beggs, 55-David." She grabs a piece of chicken off her salad and takes a big bite, "Let's go, Bosco." 

********** 

"Oh great." 

The store that had been vandalized is a mess. The windows are all busted apart, red and black paint is sloshed up the walls and all over the floor, and the store's electric sign ripped to shreds. 

That isn't the worst part and what I'm complaining about, though. 

No, some jag-off idiot had the bright idea to dump a shitload of manure all over the place. I mean, there's gotta be a half a ton here - easy. It's all over the sidewalk, all over the floor inside, all in the gutter... 

I think whoever did this must have set fire to some of it or something because there's a bunch of thick, black smoke wafting off. The place reeks like a... well, I can't even describe it. Worse then anything I've smelled in a while, that's for sure. It's revolting. Disgusting. Gross. Any other adjective you can think of, it's it. 

I cover my mouth and nose with my sleeve in an effort to block the smell. It doesn't help much at all. "Ugh, geez, what the hell is this?" I mumble. 

I glance over at Faith. Under her hands that are covering her mouth, I can tell that her face is screwed up in a scowl - she's obviously as revolted as I am. Her blue eyes are watering freely from the horrible, pungent odor. She bravely uncovers her mouth for a second. "Uh, Bos, do you see the owner anywhere?" she chokes out, nearly gagging. 

She might be brave, but I'm no fool. I don't bother to take my sleeve away from my face and instead muffle through the fabric, "No. He must have high-tailed it outta here. I would too if I had a choice. Ten more seconds in this place and I'm gonna hurl." I'm completely serious, the smell is that bad. 

Faith, wishing only to get out of here as soon as possible, I'm sure, walks around the cow doo to the side of the building. The sun has set beyond the tall skyscrapers and it's beginning to get pretty dark out, so she flips her flashlight on and points it down the alley. "Hey!" she calls out. I guess someone is down there. "You the owner of this place?" 

A few seconds later, a skinny guy about fifty emerges with his mouth shielded in a similar fashion as Faith and I. "Yeah, yeah, I'm the owner. Sorry, I went back there to get away from...that." he points at the load of poop. 

I roll my eyes at his idiotically obvious statement and pace back and forth restlessly, eager to get out of here ASAP. Faith takes down his name and address then asks, "You got any idea who might have done this?" 

"My son is..." He sighs, raking his fingers through his thinning gray hair, "...well, he's into drugs." 

Yep, I should have known. Everything is about drugs nowadays. Drugs and/or money. I always say: "If there's problem, you can always trace it back to drugs or money." And it's very true - see it all the time out here. 

"So, you think this is about drugs?" Faith reiterates and scribbles something down on her memo pad. We have a deal going on: whoever drives doesn't have to write out the street paperwork. It's my day to drive, so I just stand to the side and try not to gag. 

"Yeah, I do. I don't have anything ta' do with it, but Michael used ta' sell and buy 'round here and maybe they found out where I work. I don't know. All I know is I came to get some keys from my shop and I find this." 

The mere mention of his son's name sends my heart beating fast. Michael... Mikey. I haven't seen my brother Mikey in weeks. I wonder if he's dead somewhere in some crack house of a heroin overdose. It's entirely possible. 

See, my brother chose the other road, the easy way out - chose to live the life of a druggie, a junkie. Yeah, imagine that: I'm the cop and he's the bad guy - what a whacked out world we live in. I'm supposed to rid the city of people like him and I can't even keep my own little brother clean. I had to arrest him once; he was dim-witted enough to be selling in my precinct. Half of me didn't want to take him in, but the other half was really pissed-off that he could just ruin his life like that. I guess I wistfully thought that maybe jail time would straighten him out. 

Not a chance. 

Ma still hasn't completely gotten over my intervention - she still gets all worked up when we talk about him. I don't want to have to think about him, because I have no control on the matter and it scares me. I don't want him to overdose. That would crush Ma and eat at me for the rest of my life. _It's my fault. I should have protected him more when we were younger..._

"Okay, sir. We'll write up a report and see what we can do about this," Faith tells the store guy and unhappy new owner of a hundred pounds of cow crap. Merry Christmas. I hope his Santa doesn't visit me any time soon... 

He looks hopeful, but Faith and I know that there's not much we can do in a situation like this, just write out a report and hope we stumble across the offender. That almost never happens. 

I kind of feel sorry for the guy, he has to pay for someone to go clean up that mess and fix his store back to normal. Then he has to live with the fact that his son is a druggie and is endangering him and his business. No parent should have to live with that. I learned that from watching my Ma struggle with the whole Mikey mess. 

Faith moves towards the cruiser, ready to leave. I am so glad we are getting out of this place. If you ask me, the ten minutes we spent here was ten minutes too long. The odor is so horribly strong that I can actually taste it, all grainy and thick on my tongue. I spit some of it out, but it's still there. Disgusting. 

Faith offers the storeowner a grim smile and a nod, and then gets back into the RMP. I don't hesitate a second and I open my door hastily, drop into my seat, and slam the door - like the Devil is after me. Suddenly, I am very aware of how nice the cruiser now smells to me. 

I buckle up and see the remainder of my dinner resting on the dashboard, all folded up nicely and ready for me to eat. Uh, very tempting, but I don't want the rest of that burger anymore. What, with the nice flavor I have in my mouth right now, it would taste more like a shitburger than an edible dinner. 

"Ugh, God, if we ever catch the creeps who did this I'm gonna make them eat a mouthful of that crap." I mutter angrily. I will, too. 

"That was a little bizarre," Faith muses. "Can't remember ever dealin' with somethin' like that." She taps her pen against her notebook and stares out at the unusual sight. 

"It was nasty, that's what," I say as I shift the RMP out of 'Park'. "Where the hell can you get the stuff in the dead of winter? With all of the snow and ice it's gonna be wicked fun to clean up," 

Faith just shakes her head and radios back to Central that we are free for another call. 

I guess they must be pretty swamped down at dispatch because no more then five seconds later they call back. "55-David, apartment fire at 1485 Arthur. Suspected arsonist seen fleeing the scene northbound." 

"What the heck?!" I slam my palm against the steering wheel emphatically. "What is this? National Commit a Crime Day? Did I not get a memo?" 

"You know what they say, Bos. There's no rest for the wicked." Faith chirps, amused at my aggravation. She would be... 

"Yeah, whatever. Who's the all-knowing "they" anyway?" I mutter back, annoyed. 

"They" were always making up silly quotes that Faith likes to recite. I think "they" should get a life. 

The apartment fire is a few blocks up, but I can see the ugly, black smoke billowing against the cloudy sky as I pull onto the south end of Arthur 

Faith smirks, ignores my comment, and radios back, "Central, show 55-David en route." She flips the sirens on and settles back in her seat. 

"I'm goin' for the arsonist," I inform her, but I'm sure she already knows that. I always go for the criminal, especially if they are fleeing. I love a good chase. Plus, if I don't go after the perp, we have to direct traffic for the firemen. Boring. "The bucket boys can handle the fire." 

Faith sighs and unbuckles her seatbelt, ready to switch to the driver's seat when I find that running coward and chase him down. I gun the engine of the RMP and take off down the street. 

Another siren mingles with ours and I can see 55-Charlie in my rearview mirror turning onto Arthur a few streets back. Davis must be driving because they quickly pick up speed. Sully drives like a pansy. 

We pass one more block before the building in question comes into full view. The apartment complex, one I've passed many times before, is entirely engulfed in flames. 

"Damn..." I mumble under my breath as I lean forward and crane my neck for a better look. 

The five-floor building has been transformed from a nice middle-class residence into a blazing, fiery inferno. The roof has caved in at places, windows are shattered and large pieces of the plastic siding are peeling back from the heat and falling to the pavement below. The fire inside is licking upwards, out the windows and towards the gray sky, billowing soot and ash with every puff of thick, dark smoke. 

Wow, that has to be the biggest fire I've seen in a while. 

The bucket boys are already in position with their bright red fire engines. I can see Jimmy Doherty and Walsh hooking up a hose to the nearby hydrant. For the most part, the rest of the firefighters are crowded in a small huddle, taking orders from their Captain and peering up at their roaring adversary. 

Faith rolls down her window as I pull up to the curb. "Hey! Which way did he head?" she hollers to no one in particular. 

Walsh jogs up to the cruiser, his heavy equipment clanging against him. "Took off up the street thataways," he points north. "Young guy, wearing a blue jacket and black pants." 

"Thanks!" Faith waves at him and he takes off back to his truck. 

Davis pulls 55-Charlie up to my side. He leans forward and raises his brow in question. "Blue jacket, black pants! North!" I yell at him as I pull out. Sully flashes us the 'thumb-up', indicating that they understand and they follow us down the street. 

I grip the steering wheel tightly while Faith recites off what we know into her CB, "Central, 55-David in pursuit of suspect heading northbound on Arthur. Suspect is reportedly a young male, wearing a blue jacket and black pants. No further information." 

"55-David, copy that," the radio bleeps back. 

"Ok... where are you...?" I murmur as we tear down the street, scanning quickly through all of the pedestrians for a blue jacket - or anyone running for that matter. The sidewalks look normal, people walking calmly up and down, nothing out of order. 

Faith leans forward, squinting. "There!" she points ahead. My eyes follow her extended finger up the road a few blocks. There he is, the stupid asshole. He isn't even smart enough to step into an alley or anything, just keeps trucking up Arthur as if we wouldn't see him. He hears our sirens and takes off running fast. What an idiot... 

Okay, you stupid jag-off. I'm in a car - you're on foot. I win. Game over loser. 

"I see him... I got him," I say as I fly through a red light. The RMP quickly makes up the couple of blocks, and our sirens and flashing lights startle the guy into a full sprint. I pull up beside him and get a good look at his sweating, panicked face. Well, now I can say that I know what a complete moron looks like. 

The cruiser lurches as I step on the brake and throw the cruiser into 'Park'. I unbuckle and quickly, get out, and start after him on foot. "Go, Faith! I got him!" I yell back to my partner as she switches seats. The suspect is about a good fifty-yards up ahead of me now, but I'm not worried. He's been going for at least five minutes and I haven't even gotten started. 

I can hear Faith over the CB, "Central, 55-David has the suspect in sight and are pursuing on foot." 

I fall into a good rhythmic sprint after the bright blue jacket. The guy keeps up his sprinting for a couple of minutes and I match his pace and then push myself to go faster. I weave in and out between the people walking along the sidewalk, trying not to hit anyone but end up shouldering a guy and nearly colliding with a baby stroller. The woman pushing the stroller shrieks at me, but by the time I hear her, I'm halfway down the block. 

My attention turns again to the suspect and I can tell that he's slowing slightly. His pace has changed to a fast run instead of the full sprint. I was wondering how long he could keep it up - must be out of shape. He should try Yoga. 

My lungs are constricting with every intake of the frigid afternoon air, no doubt a contributing factor in the perp's slowed pace. I ignore the sharp, cold pain of every breath, instead focusing on closing the distance between us. 

"Bosco!" I hear Sully yell from his cruiser as it coasts beside me. I turn my head slightly, but keep running. "We'll cut him off at Robinson!" 

"Ok!" I yell back, hoping I can catch up with the running fool before the next intersection. I look back ahead, noticing I have nearly done so. Blue-jacket has reduced his speed even more. Oh, I so have this guy! 

Man, the cold air is really starting to bother me - it's cutting into my cheeks like needles and every lungful of air feels like a knife through my chest. Shit, it hurts. _Don't think about it, _ I tell myself. _Just...go. You almost got him..._

I continue to race after him and I'm now within ten feet of the perp. I can hear his feet slapping the pavement, his own sharp breaths, the swishing of his nylon pants. He's almost to Robinson where Sully and Davis will cut him off, but I won't let that happen. No way, this asshole is mine. I pump my arms and legs harder, forcing them to go even faster. 

I can see Faith drive quickly by me out of the corner of my eye. She's probably heading to Robinson with 55-Charlie. _Com'on_... I egg myself on. _Com'on, gotta catch this guy..._

Suddenly, the guy rears to the right and disappears down a dark side street. Finally he turns off the main road - geez, I thought he'd never act smart. I guess either the idiot realized he had a few brain cells left and used them or he must have heard me, 'cause I was nearly on his heels. If I was being chased I would have been weaving in and out of alleys a long while ago. This sucker ain't the brightest bulb on the porch. 

I slow down a bit and make the turn in to follow him, my burning lungs appreciating the slight change in pace. 

I jog down the street after him for a couple of yards before I remember that I need to alert Faith and Sully. I grab my mike off my shoulder and bark, "Suspect has changed direction and is heading east on...uh..." Great, I don't know what street I'm on. 

I keep running as I look up and around for a landmark of some sort. Nothing. Well, I know I'm on the street before Robinson, wherever the hell that is. Where the hell am I? Dammit. 

The perp has crossed the street and is now on the opposite sidewalk. He is definitely tiring, his shoulders are slouching a bit and his feet are slapping even louder against the ground. This only strengthens my resolve and I keep up my own pace as I frantically search for a sign or something that could tell me what street I'm on. I pass a few interested pedestrians before I see a green street sign. Greenwich. 

"...East on Greenwich," I finish, half out of breath. My side is starting to cramp painfully from exertion. _Com'on you stupid cramp, work with me here..._

"Okay, Bosco. We'll cut him off." I hear Faith call back, her voice scratchy over the frequency. 

I reach down with my right hand, unsnap my gun holster, and pull out my 9 as I close the last few yards between us. "Stop!" I gasp, forcing myself to talk around my labored breathing. My side is killing me now, a burning ball of cramped muscles. 

"Stop... Police!" I huff again, louder this time. The guy hesitates for a moment, contemplating if he should keep going or give in. _Give it up, fool! _ I mentally scream at him. 

I can hear sirens getting louder - either Faith or Sully and Ty are nearly to the end of the street. Now he has no way out. "Give it up, jag-off!" I holler. 

I pull my gun out in front of me and purposely cock it noisily. The guy hears it, I can tell. He slows down to a slow walk and slowly raises his hands above his head. 

"Don't shoot!" he wheezes, gasping for air. "Don't shoot me!" 

"Shut up! Turn around now," I snap at him, keeping my gun trained on his back. 

Runner-boy slows to a crawl, still moving forward. Did I not make myself clear? 

"I said _now_, jag-off!" 

He stops walking and turns slowly, his hands still raised. "Don't move," I command as I reach for my CB and try to catch my breath. The frigid air is making my chest ache and my side is still splitting painfully. "Central," I huff. "Suspect has been apprehended. Requesting my backup." 

I take a moment to catch my breath and bend over a bit, my left hand resting on my bent knee for support. My gun is still leveled on the gasping perp and I swallow back the urge to cough as I start to book him. "Get down on your knees," I breathe heavily, still winded. 

I can see an RMP coming towards us with its lights flashing, but sirens off. I straighten back up as the guy half-falls into a kneeling position, placing his hands on his head. From the way he knows how to do everything, I can tell he's done this a few times before... 

I give the perp a once-over, looking at his pockets for any bulges that might be a weapon. He looks clean but I still move to pat him down. "You got anything on you?" I ask him. 

He shakes his head 'no', sliding his hands down a bit. _Oh no you don't..._

"Keep your hands on your head," I bark at him and replace my gun into its holster. 

I unclip my handcuffs from my belt and fix them on his trembling hands. "I didn't do anything," he whines. 

Oh yeah, sure - like I haven't heard that one before. Please, someone needs to get these guys a new line... 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah - that's what they all say," I spit back as I pat him down and start reading him his rights, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you, and believe me, I will make sure you get the stupidest, most idiotic, unintelligent rookie I can find... you understand?" 

The RMP that I saw before pulls up right behind us, and Sullivan and Davis get out. I continue to pat down runner-boy here, and finding nothing down his left side, move to feel his right-side pockets. My gloved hands make a swishing sound against the nylon fabric of his pant pockets. Clean. I go for the jacket pocket, not fully noticing the way he shifted his weight. 

The soft clinking of the handcuffs should have alerted me, but I'm still out of breath a bit and breathing heavily. The next sound I hear is Davis' voice as he yells out a warning, "Bosco! Look out!" 

**********

TBC... You guys still like it? Want more? I have it all done, just tell me if I should continue... :) 


	4. Hell's Kitchen

**That Day**

Hell's Kitchen

A/N: I meant to post this sooner, but I was filming on set all yesterday. Once again, I want to thank everyone who reviewed this story, you guys are **awesome**! Here's the next part, I hope you find it equally pleasurable!

**********

Suddenly Runner-boy's cuffed hands are around my neck, choking me. I don't have time to react to his cold fingers and the metal handcuffs cutting my air off, before his sweaty forehead smashes violently into mine. 

_What the hell? _ I think as I tumble to the snowy ground. _Shit! He just head-butted me! _

My head smacks loudly against the pavement and intense pain shoots through my skull and neck. _Ow... God, that hurts! _

I can hear Sully and Davis all over the guy, yelling and pushing and shoving, but I don't move to get up. I can't, my head will split wide open, I'm sure. The cold wetness of melted snow seeps through my pants gives me goosebumps, but all I can think is how bad my head is pounding. I reach my hand up to the back of my skull and grimace. Damn, I can already feel a big bump forming. 

Sully and Davis are still yelling at that stupid jag-off and I see Davis smack the guy with his nightstick a few times. "That's enough!" Ty says forcefully when the guy keeps struggling. 

Sully walks over to me and he's got a worried frown on his face. "You okay, Bosco?" he asks me and offers his hand to me. 

"Unghh," I groan in response. My head kills.

I blink a few times and grab Sully's hand. He hauls me up onto my feet a bit too fast and my head throbs viciously. "You okay?" he asks again and I nod my head, trying to ignore the pain. 

"Yeah," I croak out, "I'm okay." I pull off my skullcap and rub the back of my head again, trying to diffuse the angry pounding. My hair is cold and wet from the melted snow that soaked through my hat. 

"Bosco! Are you okay?" a familiar voice calls anxiously from behind me. Faith. I turn away from Sully to see her jogging up. "What happened?"

"This jag-off here head-butted me. I'm fine," I assure her as convincingly as possible. I'm not fine - my head is killing me. Maybe I have a concussion... I hope not. 

"Lemme see," Faith murmurs and pushes my hair away from the large goose-egg on the back of my head. Her touch is soft, but she still manages to make it hurt even worse. "Looks okay, but you have a nice bump back there."

I sigh and rub my face with my hands. "You think!?" I remark sarcastically. 

Faith grabs my shoulders and gently turns me around to face her. Her bright blue eyes search my face for who-knows-what and then linger on my forehead. "You have a bit of a cut there, Bos," she remarks.

Disbelievingly, I swipe my forehead with my fingers and hold them in front of me. There's a little blood in my fingertips. Oh. I guess I got that when he smashed his head against mine. Yeah, that would do it... 

"I'm fine, " I reiterate again. "Lets just get this moron booked, okay?" I let Davis handle the stupid son-of-a-bitch because I don't think I could book him without inflicting an equal amount of pain to his dumb head. Faith would get pissed at me again and then this sucky day would be even suckier. Don't need that.

Davis nods at me and then chants off the Miranda while he drags the sniveling perp back to the RMP.

**********

"Hey, here's a Band-Aid for that cut. You want it?" Faith asks, holding out the glorified strip of tape. 

"What? And wear it on my forehead? Are you crazy?" I scowl at her. Yeah, right. Like I'm going to wear a bandage right across my forehead. No way. 

I glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror. The cut isn't bad, just a scratch. The bleeding stopped few minutes ago and now it's just an angry red mark. If you ask me, I think it looks really masculine, kind of sexy. Ladies like a rough and tough guy, you know. "I'm fine... really. Quit treating me like a kid."

"Ok, whatever," Faith shrugs indifferently as I pull our squad back onto Arthur, heading back to the fire. I need to see if we have a witness to identify the jag-off arsonist that we just nailed. He's cuffed and slouching in the back seat, whining something about "the injustice of the free world", I think. I have no idea what his problem is. Such a moron.

We got his name, a Mr. Scott Tenney, but I prefer to think of him as our very own "Idiot-runner-boy". It suits his sniveling, whining, brainless personality, if you ask me. I'm still really pissed at him for trying to take me out and causing me the nice headache I have now. 

I'm so filing his dumb ass for assault, he's not gonna get away with trying to strangle me - no way in hell.

As we coast down the street, the burning complex comes into view again, but this time the blaze seems to have died down a little. Now it's just a huge fire instead of a raging inferno. 

"Nice little number you did on the place, Tenney," I derisively remark to our passenger as I glare at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He ignores me and stares out the window at the blaze. I swear, I can almost see his eyes light up in delight, the sick bastard. 

I pull off to the other side of the road and get out of the car. The smell of smoke is strong and irritating, and for some reason is making my head pound even worse. 

I swear, if there weren't so many witnesses around here, I'd yank Tenney out of the car and throw him right into his flaming masterpiece.

I spot DK over by his truck pulling out a coiled-up hose. "Hey! DK!" I yell, as I jog up to him. He turns around, his face a mess of black, streaky soot. "We got your arsonist. You have someone that can ID him?" I ask.

"Uh, yeah," he answers distractedly as he lugs the hose to a spot not four feet from the truck. "I saw him."

"Okay, you want to come down to the station when you finish up here?" I notice him struggling to juggle the hose and the large wrench he has pulled from his toolbox. 

Wanting to help, I give him a hand with the hose. Good grief, it's a lot heavier than it looks - must weigh at least a hundred pounds. Good thing I didn't sign up to be a bucket boy... 

"Sure, Boscorelli," he replies. We cross the street with the hose in hand and drop it next to a red fire hydrant. "Thanks for the lift."

"Yeah," I say distractedly as I turn to watch the blazing complex. 

The heat of the fire is hot enough to be warming me from across the street. My eyes roam the scene, as I suddenly feel uneasy. Something is wrong. There are five or six fire trucks parked every which way, but only a small handful of firefighters are outside. I wonder if the rest of them are inside... My gut instinct tells me to find out. 

I spot the firehouse Lieutenant barking orders into his CB and jog over. "Hey, Lieu, you got guys in there?" I ask him, frowning up at the fire.

Lt. Johnson's grim nod makes me feel jumpy. "There's a few civilians unaccounted for and my boy's went in. So far they've only found a dog."

I can tell he's worried. I shift my weight back and forth and stuff my hands into my pockets. "You need help out here?" I offer, knowing full well what his answer will be. 'No, Boscorelli,' he'll say, 'we got it under control.' There isn't really anything I can do.

"No, Boscore-" he starts, but I stop hearing him when every sound turns into a loud, resounding roar and a huge explosion of some sort knocks us to our knees. The heat scorches my back as glass and large pieces of debris rain down around us. Instinctively, I cover my head with my hands - as if they will shield away anything. I feel glass hitting the back of my neck, little shards digging in with a sharp, stinging sensation. 

When the roar dies down a second later, I get up quickly and grab Lt. Johnson's hand to help him back onto his feet. I try to look past the panicked, horrified expression plastered across his face because it scares me half to death. He grabs his shoulder radio and yells loudly, frantically to his men, "Calling all members of the 55, report in now!"

The radio sits in his hands, silent for a moment before a mere seven men check in. I feel my stomach drop. Now is the time to panic - and he does, calling again and again into the CB for his missing men. God, there must be at least ten guys still in there!

Faith runs up behind me. "Oh my God, Bos! Are there people in there?" she half-shrieks, looking past me at the inferno. The once almost-controlled blaze has ripped and roared into a conflagration of seething flames. Beside me, the Lieu has started to get beside himself, his hands shaking as they grip the silent radio and he paces back and forth nervously.

Okay, I need to help. _What can I do? _ I whirl around and look for an answer. My gaze flits from the trucks to the hoses to the ambulance that has just pulled up. _ I could..._

Not letting myself finish my thought, I run up to the bus and yank open the driver's side door. "Doc, they got a bunch of guys in there," I inform him as I motion to the blaze. "I'm goin' in with you," I decide. There are guys in there that I know, and I'm not about to sit here and watch them burn alive. 

Doc gets out and stops for moment to watch the raging fire, mesmerized by its powerful intensity. "Good, God..." he mumbles in awe. 

Carlos trots up to stand behind me and loudly utters one of his less-intelligent phrases, "Whoa, big fire." Thank you, Carlos, for your wonderful insight and uncanny ability to state the obvious. Moron. 

Doc shrugs him off and starts grabbing bags of medical supplies from the cab of the bus. I follow him over to the Lieutenant, who is still trying in vain to contact his men, his knuckles white as he grips the CB. 

"What do we got, Lieu?" Doc asks as he stares at the fire.

"Uh..." Lieu voice falters as he rakes his hand through his sweat-matted hair. "I got a bunch of my boys still in there. Walsh just radioed in - he and Doherty are trapped in the stairwell under some rubble. Doherty got hit by something and is out cold. They need you up there now, Doc. I don't know how long this building is gonna stand."

"You know what floor?" Doc asks glancing up to the complex. Good question. Looks like there are five floors, but the middle two are the ones that are really flaming.

"Yeah, between second and third." Lieu paces back and forth again, still calling anxiously into the CB.

Great, they're trapped between the burning floors. Of course they would be there - Murphy's Law. What the hell is with today? It's like the worst, suckiest, unluckiest day ever. Will it never end? 

I can tell he's worried, as is everyone out here, but he's got to be feeling on the verge of nervous breakdown right about now. I don't know how I would feel if I were in his position - he's responsible for all of his men, and when things like this happen... 

"I'm goin' in with Doc, Lieu," I inform him. "You got an extra jacket and tank?"

Lieu sighs deeply, and realizing he has no better options then to send us in, reluctantly agrees. "Okay...You be careful, okay? I don't need to lose you guys too." 

**********

_Doc and I have done this type of thing a million times - piece of cake_, I tell myself as I suit-up.

That's a lie. I've gone into a few fires at most, and none of them were even half as big as this one. My nerves are jumpy with anticipation and my hands are shaking slightly. I hope Faith can't see how uneasy I am. She watches from a few feet away, worried as hell. She hates it when we get sent in, I guess she doesn't think we are qualified or something. I'm not exactly thrilled myself, but we don't really have any other options. 

Doc and I pull on the couple of extra jackets that Lieu gave us, but our oxygen masks leave a little to be desired. Unfortunately, they didn't have any _real_ ones lying around, so we get to use the standard masks that the medics carry around. You know, the clear plastic ones that barely cover your mouth and nose. Yeah, and I'm _so_ happy about this. I just hope we don't die of smoke inhalation...

"You ready?" I ask Doc as we walk up to the complex. 

"Ready as I'll ever be..." he sighs and hoists medical bag up a bit more onto his shoulder.

The front doorway of the building is dark, filled with smoke, and very foreboding. I cringe slightly with every step. Each movement towards the building rewards us with a louder roar from the inferno, a darker smoke, and a worse feeling in the pit of my stomach. Between the smoke and the nervousness, I feel like I'm going to hurl. _I just need to stay focused..._

The thick fire jacket I'm wearing is heavy, but I barely notice it as we step into what I assume was once the lobby of the place. The wooden floors creak under our feet as we slink carefully along the walls towards the back left corner. Apparently the stairs are located back there somewhere, but I can hardly see two feet in front of me and I can't tell if they are. The flashlights we are carrying are useless, the beams of light just reflect off of the smoke. Why on earth am I doing this? Am I crazy?

A loud creaking noise overhead only instills the uneasiness I'm feeling. I look up and realize that the ceiling looks like its gonna fall any minute. Again, I ask myself why the hell I volunteered to do this. 

I _am_ crazy...

I traipse after Doc as fast as I can manage, but it's so hot in here that I feel like I'm broiling inside this damn jacket. Why the hell would anyone in their right mind want to be a firefighter? I try to remember that it's like ten degrees outside but it's really hard to while I'm burning up in here. 

I swear, five more minutes in this hellhole and I'll start to believe in spontaneous combustion. 

Doc, ahead of me by a few feet, points to something that looks like doorframe. There's so much debris in here that I can hardly tell. I think part of the ceiling fell in or something because there is a bunch of wood and stuff all over the ground. We slowly make our way up to the doorframe thingy and Doc motions for me to go through first. Super. 

I crawl up the pile of junk and peer through the hole. I can see a railing and stairs leading up - I think we found the stairway. Good. Forcing myself to ignore the growing feelings of claustrophobia, I pull myself into the stairwell and stand up. There is a lot more smoke in here then was in the main lobby, or whatever the hell we just were. 

Doc pushes his bag up to me and then crawls in himself. "You good?" I ask him, the sound of my voice muffled by the flimsy oxygen mask that I'm holding over my nose and mouth.

He nods and waits for me to continue up the stairs. Oh, lucky me - I get to go first again. I send him my thanks back as a long glare and slowly start up the stairway. 

There's a lot of smoke in here and its getting harder and harder to see. Thankfully, it's mostly swirling up around the ceiling, but its still bothering me. My eyes are stinging and watering, and even though I have an oxygen mask on, the smoke is catching in my lungs and mouth. It tastes thick and gross, like I just chugged a bottle of tar or something. Ugh.

We make it to the first landing okay. I'm guessing that we are between the first and second floor now...? Man, it's so damn hot in here... My hands are sweating, my back is sweating, and my neck is sweating... Hell, I think even my feet are sweating. Damn-stupid arsonist. 

I turn the corner and start up another flight of steps, except now the smoke is so thick that I can't see the end of them - creepy if you ask me. I feel like I'm walking into a crypt or something, the place is eerily silent save the roaring of the flames from somewhere overhead. 

My head is really pounding now, I think that all of the smoke has just made my headache worse, adding to what our friend Tenney did to me earlier. God, I could just kill him right now...

At this point, I realize that I can barely see much at all because of the thick smoke and the fact that my eyes have been pouring tears for the last five minutes. My left foot finds the next step, but it's blocked by something. I stop suddenly and Doc runs right into me, slamming the meds bag into my back. I stumble forward a bit before I catch my balance. He must be having problems seeing too. 

"What, Bosco?" Doc asks loudly from right behind me. 

"Uh..." I feel around in front of me and realize that half of the stairway is blocked by debris. We must be close to where Walsh and Doherty are trapped. "Looks like there's a bunch of junk all over the stairs. Must be where the ceiling fell in so they gotta be around here somewhere." I look up and shine my flashlight around trying to see anything. Nope. Nothing but lovely black smoke.

"Can we crawl over?" Doc asks, pushing his way up to stand beside me. He leans over the pile a bit to see. "Yeah, we can crawl."

I wonder if Walsh can hear us from here... "Hey! Walsh! Anybody up there?" I holler as loudly as I can. 

A few seconds pass before I can hear a muted answer. Sounds like someone yelling "Over here!". Ok, good - we're close. 

I start to climb over the rubble, hoping to God that it won't give under my weight. I heard about this one guy once that was crawling over debris like this and ended up creating sort of an avalanche. He died, burned alive while he was trapped in the heap of rubble. My stomach drops when I remember this. _Shit, why do I always remember these kinda stories at the worst times? _

I can hear Doc behind me, lugging the meds bag up after him. I let a minute or two of slow climbing pass before I call out again, "Walsh? Where are you?"

"Up here!" I hear him shout back, but this time I can tell he's no more then ten feet in front of us. It's weird to hear him so close, because I can't see anything except my gloved hands as they grope around for good handholds.

"We're comin'!" Doc yells, crawling up beside me. I can tell he's encouraged by the fact that at least Walsh is still conscious, though with all of this smoke I don't know how. 

Finally, I make out a gray shadow of a figure and stop. "That you, Walsh?" I smile at him, relived that we found them all right. I see him move towards us, his face entirely covered by his mask.

"Yeah," he answers. By the tone of his voice, I can tell he's equally relieved to see us. "Watch out for Jimmy. He's trapped under all this shit."

I follow his eye-line to his partner. Jimmy is lying on his side, a pile of rubble covering his lower half, and his head lulled to the side limply. He looks like he's dead, and I would have sworn he was if I couldn't see the fog of his breath on his clear mask. Kim is gonna to freak when she finds out... 

Doc moves in, assessing Jimmy's injuries. He looks him over good and takes his pulse, all the while calling his name over and over, trying to wake him up or at least get a response. Jimmy is out cold, he doesn't even move when Doc opens his eyelids to check for dilation.

Doc gets up and grabs his bag, pulling out his equipment as he directs us to help him, "Okay, Walsh, take his helmet off but leave his mask on. Bosco, see if you can move any of this stuff off him."

I step back a second and size up my job. There are a lot of big pieces of ceiling and a bunch of what looks like concrete block...? I could be wrong. Maybe it's the insulation? Or drywall? I don't take the time to ponder this over and instead get to work. I grab a board and heave it up the stairs and away from us. 

I can hear Doc calling into his radio, letting the Lieu and I guess Carlos know what is going on up here, "Ok, we got to Walsh and Doherty. We're gonna get them down and outta here ASAP. Tell Carlos that Jimmy's tachy with a concussion - possible fracture of the Occipital bone. Have a backboard and collar ready."

Tachy... I've heard that before. I think it means that his heart rate is up - way up. Bad stuff. I hurry to uncover him, yanking stuff off as fast as I can manage.

"10-4, Doc," somebody radios back.

Again and again I toss boards, drywall, and whatever the hell else is in here out of the way. After about five long minutes of digging, I can finally tell that I'm making a dent in the pile. I can see Jimmy's legs come into view, the bright yellow stripes of his fire pants. Damn, he's buried in deep. 

Walsh, beside me, struggles to get up and help. He's shaking and I can tell he's hurt, but I have no idea how bad. "You okay?" I ask him. 

He just nods and starts to dig out his partner. We work feverishly for a few more minutes before everything is cleared off, except one large, heavy beam that is pinning Jimmy's torso down. Me and Walsh push and pull at it but it doesn't budge. "Dammit, that's really stuck," I tell Doc, getting frustrated.

"See if you can lift it enough that I can slide him out," he suggests, grabbing Jimmy by the shoulders, ready to pull him out from underneath. Uh, I don't think he realizes just how heavy the thing is. "Try t-"

A loud explosion interrupts him, and pieces of the ceiling fall on and all around us. We all hit the ground and Doc throws himself over Doherty. I think something upstairs just exploded, because an intensely hot cloud of smoky dust comes barreling down the stairwell, surrounding us. "Now!" Doc yells at me and Walsh, obviously alarmed. "We gotta go now!" 

Walsh grasps one end of the beam and motions for me to do the same. "On my count," he says. I bend over and get ready to pull, coughing and choking on the smoky, sooty air. My sorry excuse for a mask isn't doing the greatest job at keeping the ash and smoke out. God, I need to get out of here...

"One...two...three!" Walsh counts. 

I yank up as hard as I can, every muscle straining to move the damn beam. It doesn't shift at all. Not a millimeter. Ok, I think to myself as I struggle to pull harder, _You got it - just pull..._

There! It moved, just a few inches, but I can hear Jimmy suck in a huge breath of air as it comes off of him. The sound of that makes me feel sick. The worst feeling in the world is not being able to breathe. 

"Up! Up!" Doc shouts, pulling on Jimmy at the same time. He's moving out inch by inch... _Oh, God, com'on! _ I know I can't hold it much longer; my arms are burning in pain and giving out... _Com'on! _

Right before I know I'll drop it, I give it one last heave. The beam comes up just enough to slide Jimmy out the rest of the way. "We got it! I got him!" Doc hollers as he pulls Jimmy away to safety. 

Walsh and I simultaneously drop the beam. My arms are weak and shaky now, but I ignore the feeling as I turn around and grab Jimmy's legs. God, they are so limp. Another small explosion rattles above us again and makes me jump. Oh, shit...

Now the ceiling is practically raining down on us, covering us with a thick layer of white powder. "Let's get the hell outta here!" I yell at Doc and Walsh, who seem all too happy to oblige. 

We all carry Jimmy, feeling our way down the stairway, and trying not to choke to death on the smoke and dust. My chest is on fire, I swear. It feels like I inhaled a pint of hard liquor right into my lungs. My lungs tighten and make me cough over and over as we haul ass down the cluttered steps. 

Fresh air - what I would give for some right now...

I can hear Lieu or someone calling over the CB, yelling frantically over and over for us to get out immediately. The tone of his voice and the urgency of his calls sends my heart racing. God, I'm so scared now... My adrenalin is rushing and I feel sick to my stomach. With every call I'm sure the building is just going to collapse right on top of us. Sheer panic forces me to go, to get out. 

After what seems like an eternity, we stumble into the lobby and practically run towards the exit, all the while hearing the rattling, creaking, and roars from the inferno raging above us grow louder and louder.

Another small explosion rips through the building and my heart jump into my throat._It's gonna fall! Oh, God, it's gonna fall! _ my mind screams. I'm so dead. 

**********

TBC... Oh, I know I'm mean, but you have to have a little suspense, right? Please tell me what you think - I love reading your reviews about what made you laugh or die of suspence, and I esteem your opinions highly! 


	5. And Chaos Ensues

**That Day**

And Chaos Ensues

A/N: Here it is guys! Your reviews are **so** incredibly encouraging; thank you so much for taking the time to make my day! Enjoy... 

**********

The ceiling overhead creaks loudly again and we make a mad dash for the door, frantically praying all the while that the four floors above won't give-way and crush us to death. _God, no, please... Just let us get out the door... we're so close..._

Five seconds later we're out. 

The icy air outside hits us like a slap in the face, but anything is better then the hellhole that we just came from. Carlos and a bunch of the bucket boys grab Jimmy from us and take him quickly to the waiting ambulance, relieving our shaking arms from his weight.

I run as far away from the complex as I can before I lean over, throwing my mask off, gasping and struggling to catch my breath. I wince at the cold air as I gulp it in, coughing and choking on what seems like two inches of soot on my tongue and throat. I attempt to spit out the taste and then cough again so hard that I nearly heave up my lunch. _Oh, God, I'm gonna cough up a lung..._

Suddenly there's a hand on my back and a familiar voice. "Bosco! Are you okay?" Faith asks, clearly worried. I try to answer her, but I can't stop coughing. My eyes are still watering like nothin' goin', and my lungs are so tight that they feel like they will just rip apart. _ God, make it stop, _ I inwardly groan, squeezing my eyes shut in pain.

When I open them again a minute later, Carlos is in front of me with the meds bag. "Are you okay, man?" he asks. What an idiot! Do I _look_ okay? "Com'on let's get you checked out."

I know what that means: I get to sit in the back of the ambulance and have Carlos poke and prod at me. Or worse, he looks me over and decides that I need a ride to the hospital - my least-favorite place in the entire world. No thank you, I'll pass. 

"I'm fine," I rasp. I seem to be saying that a lot today...

"You're a bad liar, Bos," Faith remarks. I shake my head and cough a few more times, trying to be rid of the stiffness in my lungs and throat. Damn, I need some water.

Finally, I straighten back up and attempt to breathe normally. "I'm okay, I just got some smoke. I'm fine. Go help Jimmy or Walsh."

Faith doesn't buy it. "Doc and Kim got them. Com'on, Bosco, just let him take a look at you." She's not gonna take no for an answer, I can tell. 

Oh, yeah, this day just keeps on gettin' better and better...

**********

Fifteen minutes and half of an oxygen tank later, Carlos finally decides that I'm okay. 

Of course I'm okay - I just needed to cough out the smoke, get some fresh air. No big deal. My lungs feel halfway back to normal, but my head still aches and now my back and arms are a little stiff. Whatever, I'll be fine.

I hop out of the back of the ambulance and wander over to where Faith is waiting. She gives me a weak smile and pats my arm. "That was really somethin' you did in there, Bos."

I shrug her off and glare at the smoldering building. Apparently, almost the entire second floor gave out a little while ago right near where we were - we got out of there in the nick of time, with only seconds to spare. The flames are still licking at the top floor, but the fire has died down considerably. "Lieu said that everyone got out okay, right?" I ask my partner.

"Yeah, they were all on their way out when you and Doc went in. You guys were the last out." She purses her lips and her eyes cloud over. I know she was worried; she's got that mothery look on again...

"Let's go, Faith. I want to get outta here," I say and turn back around, heading for the RMP. I don't want to spend one more second here, the smoke that is still hanging in the air is irritating and makes my head pound. 

As I get closer to the cruiser, I notice the absence of our guest. "Where the hell is Tenney?" I snap, very perturbed. If that sniveling jag-off got loose...

"Oh, uh, Sully and Davis offered to take him in," Faith answers softly as she pushes past me to the driver's side and gets in. Okay, I guess I'm not driving. 

I get in the passenger side and slump into the seat. I'm so tired and it's only... I check my watch. 7:22 pm. Great - three and a half more hours left in this day from hell. It never ends...

"Well, it's a good thing they took the bastard. I mighta just killed him myself. I mean, what the hell kinda person burns a building with people inside it? Sick son-of-a-bitch," I lash out, annoyed. 

"Bosco, I don't really care about him," Faith says a little louder then necessary, her voice taking on that high pitched kinda tone she gets when she's upset. "You had me worried as hell. Don't ever do that again, okay? Or at least wait until my day off!" 

I guess I really upset her, because she looks like she's going to cry. "Hey, I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I just couldn't leave Jimmy and them in there, ya know? Just wouldn't be right..."

She nods her head, but I can tell she's still bothered. Her hands are shaking slightly and she's clutching the steering wheel in a death-grip. 

"Hey, could we stop for something to drink? I need some more water," I say, strategically changing the subject. I hate this. You know, all of this emotional stuff. I'm no good at it - never have been.

"Sure." Faith pulls the RMP back on the road and I lean back and close my eyes. Oh, man, I wish I were in bed right now... 

We drive on a few minutes before a call comes in over the CB. "Dispatch to any available units, reports of a MVA at Anderson and 12th."

I automatically reach for my radio to call us in, but Faith's hand stops mine. "No, Bos. Let someone else take this one. Why don't we lay low and take it easy for the rest of the night? We'll pick up an easy one later."

Sounds good to me. Today has been... well, one of the most unusual days of my life. Let's see, I had two perps assault me, shot a robber, survived sock coffee, wrote up a store full of shit, and ran into a fire. I just realized this, but we've been running from call to call all day without a break. If I make it through the rest of the day I deserve a medal... 

"Whatever," I reply and sink back into my seat.

**********

"So then he tells me that I'm being bitchy. I wasn't being bitchy, I just wanted him to do it _my_ way for once!" Faith says forcefully. 

We've been sitting around in the RMP for the last hour and a half and I'm nearly bored out of my mind. Faith has been ranting about this thing with Fred for a good ten minutes. Give it up, women.

Apparently, Fred and her had a big fight this morning. Fred was making scrambled eggs for breakfast and Faith only likes hers over-easy. Their kids like scrambled and he likes scrambled, so what's the big deal, right? Well, Faith here wanted him to throw away the half-done eggs and start all over with fried. 

"Uh, yeah, Faith - hate to break it to ya, but that's just plain bitchy," I say, waiting for her to start the impeding tirade about me not taking her side. "You shoulda just waited for him to finish and made your own."

"Oh, you _would_ side with Fred," she rolls her eyes. "Men - they always stick together and the woman is always wrong."

"No, men stick together when the woman's PMSing," I tell her. I totally feel for Fred, you don't want to be with Faith when she's like that. After nine years of working with a woman, I have long-since figured out why they call it PMS: 'Cause Mad Cow Disease was already taken.

"Dispatch to any available unit. Disturbance of peace in the subway station at 4th and Robinson," the radio squawks. 

"Ok, Faith - we're taking this one. It's like a block up the street," I inform her shortly and grab my CB. So far, Faith has made us pass up four calls, and they weren't even hard ones. If she makes me sit here and listen to her problems any longer, I'll scream. This call isn't a big deal anyway, it's probably some drunk singing or something - usually is. "Besides, I'm bored as hell."

Faith hesitates a moment then nods. I know she's worried about me, but I'm okay now and I'm a grown man - I can take care of myself. She needs to chill out. 

"10-4, Central. 55-David, 4th and Robinson." I recite back. "Let's go, Faith," I motion for her to go and reach over to switch the lights and siren on.

My partner sighs heavily and drives the squad out onto the street. It's started to snow again; the flakes are big and fluffy, falling down to the street lazily. Wonderful - I hate snow. A lot. We already have enough snow around here to kill a horse. I hate being cold all the time and I hate traffic when there's snow on the ground, it gets so slow that I might as well just walk home. Winter sucks. Only a couple more months of this crap...

Faith pulls the RMP up to the subway station's aboveground sign. There's nobody around up here; I'm guessing that the "Disturber of the peace" is underground. Faith gets out and I follow her to the flight of concrete stairs leading into the station below. 

"You think it's Stan?" Faith asks, referring to one of our well-known frequent flyers. 

Stan is called in at least once a week for disturbances, normally a result of a drinking binge. He likes to sing when he's drunk - very loudly. Either he sings himself to jail or we find him lying somewhere in a drunken stupor. Last time we found him passed out not four feet from the edge of the subway platform. He's lucky that he didn't fall or roll off, otherwise we'd have had to scrape him off the tracks.

"Probably," I reply scornfully as we trot down the steps. "That guy needs to get a life outside the bottle."

"Well, at least he's harmless," Faith remarks, smiling a bit as if she's amused. I'm sure as hell not amused. My time is valuable and I don't like spending it on stupid drunks. I have better things to do.

"Yeah, but he's a waste of time. Every time we gotta come get him our tax money goes down the drain," I scoff.

Faith has no comment, and I'm thinking that she agrees with me. 

We get to the bottom of the stairs and take a left down the hall, hopping the ticket turnstiles. Our footsteps echo loudly in the nearly empty station, drowning out the hum of the electric trains that move through the tunnels. 

We reach the main terminal and look around. Ten or twelve people are standing around, a few sitting on the benches that line the wall, waiting for the next train. I don't see anyone disturbing the peace, however. "Okay... Uh, I guess he's not here?" I venture.

Faith shakes her head slightly and continues to look the place over, walking around with her hands on her gun belt in her usual casual stance. 

My gaze darts from person to person trying to pick out our offender. Old guy. Nope. Lady with baby. Nope. Two, obviously gay guys... double nope, but I have a mind to arrest them for PDA. Public displays of affection are never cool - especially if you are two guys holding hands in the subway station. Keep it to yourselves people. 

A horn sounds faintly from down the dark subway tunnel and a few people get up and move to the edge of the platform. The eerie quiet and substantial dimness of the underground station is staring to feel really creepy. I don't like this place and I'm getting a bad feeling... 

"Faith! There's no one here," I call after her, wanting to get out of here. 

Faith just ignores me, and as the train pulls into the station, she yells out, "Hey, did anybody here call the police?"

A few people turn, but as they all push to board the train only a middle-aged guy pipes up, "Yeah, that guy over there was yelling his fool head off." He points to a dark corner near another stairway. 

I squint to see and realize that there's a man down there. Looks like he's standing next to the wall and banging his head against it. What on earth? Either he's a wack-job, or he's drunk as a skunk. 

"Thanks," Faith calls after the informant as he boards the train.

"Check out the headbanger," I say to her, my tone a mix of amusement and annoyance. "This oughta be fun."

"Interesting," is all she has to say. Yeah, Faith, I know...

We walk over towards where the crazy wack-job is standing, and when we get closer I can hear him moaning or humming something - I can't tell which. Weird. He's dressed pretty well, so I don't think he's s bum, but something is really off about him. Can't place my finger on it...

"Hey, you okay, sir?" Faith asks very nicely, letting her hand slide down to her nightstick. I do the same, my fingers gripping the metal handle, ready to yank it out at a moment's notice - I'm not taking any chances with this guy. He's giving me a bad vibe. Behind me, I hear the hiss of the train as it pulls away. 

Great, we're the only ones in the whole damn place with this weirdo. 

Wack job shakes his head to Faith question, and continues to bang it again and again against the concrete wall. _God, that's got to hurt_. For no good reason, he breaks out into some sort of wordless song, half-yelling it right in our ears. I frown at him, confused. This guy is some kind of moron...

"Sir?" Faith tries again, hollering over his ode and moving a bit closer to him. She sighs and gives me an annoyed look. "Sir! You're gonna have to stop that!"

He quiets a bit, but continues to belt out his sad song. Sounds like something I heard at a funeral once, I think. I try my luck at him, "Hey, com'on, man. You need to cut it out."

I guess he is either ignoring us or he's deaf, because nothing changes. I roll my eyes and get frustrated at him. This is useless - we might as well go now. "Faith, let's just get outta here - he's a loony. Let him sit here and bang his head till he makes a hole in the wall. I don't really care..."

"Com'on, sir," she tries once again. "Why don't you come with us..." 

I see her grab his arm and suddenly everything goes into slow motion. 

I watch in horror as the guy's eyes widen and panic light up in them. My heart stops as I see him reach under his coat for his belt. _ No! _ my mind screams, and my reflexes move to stop him but everything is too damn slow. His shaking hand comes out, revealing exactly what I'd feared. 

First, a glint of metal - then a round, sliver barrel right in my face. 

_Gun. That's a gun. God, he's got a gun. Oh, God, I'm gonna die_. Don't shoot...don't you dare shoot, I want to yell at him, but the lump forming in my throat is too big. 

I hear Faith gasp; a strangled, tight sound and I see her slowly back off a couple of yards. I want to scream at her to run, to get out of here fast, but I can't. It's like my whole body has frozen. I'm like a solid block of ice, a sitting duck. 

What the hell do I do? 

My brain is on overload. I'm thinking a billion things right now, but none of them seem relevant. I slow my thoughts down and focus on what I need to do. _Okay, okay, I can do this_, I assure myself. _I can do this. Easy, easy now... Just need to reason with him, just need to show him I'm not a threat..._

I deliberately raise my hands slowly in submission, hoping he'll see that I'm not in offensive mode and lower the gun. _Okay, man, com'on..._ I silently beg.

I stare at my assailant and try to read him, see if I can tell what he's planning on doing. His eyes have an insanely wild look in them, something I've never seen before. He's starting to sweat, despite the freezing temperature, and his hands are shaking crazily. I can only see fear and horror and panic. _Oh, God, this is not good..._

"Bosco?" I hear Faith whisper. I can tell she's scared, but I know she's not in the line of fire, so I concentrate on getting myself out of this mess. 

My mouth is dry, but I swallow against the scratchiness and the lump in my throat and struggle to find the right words, "Okay - easy, easy," I soothe, taking a measured half-step back. 

But my deliberate movement sends him into a frenzy. "Don't you move, dammit!" he shrieks, waving the gun two inches from my face. Shit. 

My stomach drops and I blink at the gun in shock, thinking that he's about to blow my face away. "I won't let them take me! No more! They won't take me again..." he rants, his nostrils flaring and his eyes rolling. 

What the hell is he talking about? This guy is mad. Stark, raving mad.

With the wild look on his face, plus the way he's sweating, I think he's probably the scariest person I've ever seen. Well, the fact that he has a gun leveled right between my eyes might have something to do with it too... but seriously, I'm scared half to death right now. 

I watch out of the corner of my eye as Faith reaches slowly for her CB, but the psycho sees that too. "Don't!" he screams at her, still keeping the gun leveled at my head. 

Now _I'm_ starting to sweat and my whole body feels like rubber. I need to move; I need to get out of here. _God, don't let him shoot me! Okay, okay...stay calm, Bosco. Try and get him to put the gun down..._

I keep my hands up and attempt to reason with him again, "Listen, buddy-" I start, my voice a lot shakier than I'd like it to be. 

"Shut up!" he yells and viciously drills the gun right into my forehead. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath, dreading what is to come. The cold steel against my skin sends tremors coursing through my body. I'm dead... I'm so dead. _ Faith, don't be mad at me... I'm sorry. _

"Just shut the hell up! You can't take me! They can't have me! Who sent you? Was it them?" he screams in my face, punctuating each question with a violent thrust of the gun. 

What the hell is he talking about? He's insane! He's gonna blow my head off! 

_I'm not going to die like this... no way _! I quickly open my eyes again and furiously stare him right in the eye. His face is pouring sweat now and his eyes are nearly entirely bloodshot, the look on his face indescribable. I've never seen anything that scared me so much. _God, help me..._

I swallow back the enormous lump in my throat and attempt to talk again, "I don't know, pal. Everything's gonna be okay. Listen, just take it easy. Just take it real easy. I'm not gonna hurt you..."

His eyes widen again and he thrusts the gun into my chest. Hard. I flinch and struggle against my dropping stomach as it nervously threatens to heave. "That's what they all say! That's what they say!" he screams again, his angered expression changing into one of sheer horror.

What have I done? Oh, God, what have I done... 

"You're one of them!" he whispers, his eyes wide and darting from my face to the gun. He's terrified. At what? I see his finger move slightly, starting to squeeze the trigger, and my heart drops to the floor. 

Oh, shit, no...

I hear the gun go off before I feel anything. It pops loudly and sends a flash of bright light through the dim station. Suddenly my body is thrown back violently. I start to fall back and another flash blinds my eyes. I feel something hard hit me again and the air rushes out of my lungs as I go down. 

_I'm wearing my vest_, I think as I fall. _I'll be okay. _

**********

TBC... Sorry guys about the lil' cliffhanger, I'm a repeat offender :) Tell me what you thought about this one, I love hearing from you all! 


	6. It's Down To This

**That Day**

It's Down To This

A/N: Okay, you guys have waited patiently enough! I'm **so** glad that you like this so much, and I'm not a complete failure at writing... Have fun, kids!

*********

My body hits the ground hard, and my head smacks against the concrete a second later. 

Oh, shit...I just got shot...

_Dammit, I'll have to go on desk duty_, I think as I lay there, my eyes slowly coming into focus as I stare upwards at the ugly cracked ceiling. I feel like laughing or maybe I'm gonna cry, because the first thing that runs through my head is funny and stupid and sad and terrifying all at the same time. Who cares about desk duty?

_I just got shot. I'm laying here on the cold, cement floor with a bullet in my vest. No, wait, two bullets - he shot twice. I'm hit. He shot me. I'm wearing my vest. I'm okay. _

An agonizingly slow second passes before I realize that I'm not breathing. I can't breathe. My chest struggles to move but I can't make it. Why can't I breathe? I hear a series of gunshots go off and I inadvertently flinch and wince_. No! He got Faith... oh, God, he got Faith! _

I need to get up, I need to help her... 

I move to get up and the pain hits. I've never felt anything like this before. It tears through my chest and stomach like fire, and my body goes rigid in shock. God! I try to scream, but nothing is working right. _I can't breathe. I need air..._

Instinctively, my hands fly to my chest and claw at the searing pain. Stop! _ Make it stop, please..._ The only sound I can hear now is the sound of blood rushing to my ears and the horrible thumping of my racing heartbeat. 

_I need air. I can't breathe. I'm hit_. I can feel warm, wet fluid seeping quickly through my fingers and spilling down my coat onto the ground beside me. Blood. That's blood. I'm bleeding. _ No... Oh, no, please..._

My mouth works, silently struggling to get a breath. It doesn't come. God, something is on my chest stopping my air. There's so much pressure - too much. _I need air. I need to get to Faith. He killed her..._

Again I try to get up, but the burning in my chest and stomach intensifies, ripping me apart furiously. My body responds, going rigid again as spasms tear at every muscle. Everything in me screams in agony, but I have no air left to yell out and I remain quiet. _Nobody is down here. Faith is dead. I'm dying. Nobody is down here. They won't find us 'till it's too late..._ My stomach turns painfully and bile rises into my throat. I feel so sick, I think I'm gonna pass out... 

_Please.... I need air..._

Over and over, I try to breathe, attempting to fill the emptiness of my screaming lungs. Finally, I can feel my chest raise a fraction. Cold air rushes into my lungs and the pressure in my chest lightens slightly. _I can breathe... I can breathe! _I feel tears of pain sting down my cheeks, hot and moist and I gasp for a second breath. It comes, but I can barely feel my chest move. It isn't enough air. I'm suffocating.

I see a shadowy figure move into view and I strain to see who it is. I can't tell, but it's hovering over me, big and blurry. My heart drops. _Oh, God, please... don't let it be him... it cant be him... no..._

My eyes finally focus as I blink away the tears that are rapidly filling my eyes. No, it's not him. It's Faith. _She's okay... oh thank God. _

I make out her blonde hair and hear her panicked voice as she screams at me, "Bosco! Oh my God!" Her hands grab my shoulders and I can see her blue eyes full of alarm and fear. "God, Bosco, where're you hit? Where're you hit?" she shrieks, her voice high-pitched and frantic. 

She doesn't wait for an answer and quickly moves out of my eye line. I can feel her fingers tearing at my coat, trying to pull it off. Damn, that hurts... My vision goes blurry again at the intense pain that shoots through me from her touch. I cringe and attempt to suck in another breath. _God, Faith, don't touch. Help me breathe... I can't breathe, Faith..._

I hear Faith start to hyperventilate, her breaths coming short and quick. _I need air, Faith. I can't breathe..._ I try and tell her, but I have no air left. 

"Shh, shhh," she shushes me, stroking my cheek with her hand. "Don't try and talk. It's okay. Just breathe..."

I can't! 

I grab her arm and squeeze hard, my eyes screaming what I can't say: I can't breathe! Help me!

Faith's eyes narrow as they stare into mine, concerned and confused. "Bosco, breathe... breathe!" she whispers, her voice now tight with distress. She understands. She sees that I can't breathe and her eyes go wide with panic. 

She firmly grabs my hands off of my chest, my wounds, and pushes then to the ground next to me. The cold concrete makes my hands burn slightly as they rest against it and I struggle to control my reflexes that will me to grab at the pain in my chest. "Com'on, dammit, breathe!"

I gasp again and another small bit of air enters my begging lungs, ripping through my throat and chest and burning all the way down. It's still not enough. _ Please, I need more air than this..._ I groan the tiny amount of air out as a loud, pleading, choking sob. _Help me..._

Faith is yelling frantically into her CB, her hysterical gasps are shrill and frightening. "10-13, 10-13! My partner's been shot! Officer down..." her voice becomes a muffled babble as the rapid pulsing of my blood fills my ears. I'm dying - I know it..._ I can't die... I don't want to die... please... this wasn't supposed to happen..._

I'm starting to shiver because I feel so cold, like I'm in a freezer. I clench my eyes closed and my back arches in excruciating pain as Faith pulls and tugs at my clothes again, tearing off my shirt and unfastening my vest as fast as her frenzied fingers will allow. 

My vest... the damn thing didn't work. 

My hands move once more for my chest. _Please... stop the pain - it burns so bad..._ Faith pushes my hands away again gently, and presses her palms against the blood spilling out of my chest. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," she whispers when I cringe and sob at the excruciating pain. 

My throat burns, a fiery, stinging sensation, and I can feel fluid rushing rapidly up. I gag and choke on it, trying not to inhale it. Bright red blood spills out of my mouth with every cough and choke. 

Shit, that's not good. I fight back the feelings of panic as I gasp at the blood and feel my eyes roll back in my head. 

No! I fight to stay awake, forcing my eyes to open and focus on Faith's face. She's terrified. "Bosco? Bosco! Oh, God, hold on!" she shrieks, panicked at the amount of blood coming out of my mouth. _God, it hurts, Faith... I need to breathe..._

I try to control my body and focus on inhaling air. _Okay, inhale...exhale... I can do this_. I draw a small, shaky breath and wheeze it out. Again. 

Faith is crying, sobbing really, tears are running down her face and dropping rhythmically onto my chest. She keeps whispering to me, her voice thick with emotion. "It's okay, I got you. It's okay. Please, just hold on..."

I gasp and gurgle against the blood in my throat; damn I sound like I'm dying. I swallow down the blood in my mouth and grab my partner's arm again. She's shaking like hell. "Faith..." I croak out, wincing at the pain the one word causes me. My chest is on fire, I swear, it burns hotter with every movement.

"God, Bosco," she sobs as I gasp and labor for another breath. I could breathe - it's just that my chest is so damn tight...

"Faith..." I manage to sputter again. "I...can't...breathe..." I whimper, my voice slightly above a whisper. I can feel more blood rushing up my throat, causing me to once again gag and choke. I feel so nauseous; my stomach is starting to heave. 

I'm gonna be sick. 

I turn my head to the side just in time to see a rush of bile and blood surge out onto the cold concrete beside me. _Oh, shit, that's so much blood. _ My vision blurs as I gasp and cough it all out, but I can see people running up to us. _Please be the medics... Please..._

"Faith!" someone calls out. I recognize the voice immediately - it's Davis. His footsteps are pounding against the floor and echoing loudly around the empty station. "Faith! What the hell happened?" 

Ty stops right beside me and gasps loudly. "Oh my God!" he exclaims and takes a step back. I guess I look as rough as I feel. 

Another pair of feet runs into view. "Son-of-a-bitch," Sully mutters loudly, kneeling down next to my head. "What happened?" he asks Faith and pulls away my undershirt a bit to look at my wounds. I see him cringe noticeably and swallow what I assume is a huge lump in his throat. "God, Faith, what happened?"

Oh, man, it's bad...

Faith shakes her head at his questions. "Just help me," she sobs.

Sully nods and yanks his gloves off, stuffing them into Faith's hand. "Use this," he commands roughly. She immediately obeys and packs them into the gaping holes in my chest, intensifying the pain until it's white-hot and searing. I don't have the air or the energy to cry out, and instead I struggle not to let myself strangle on the blood in my throat. 

Davis is kneeling closer to my head, mumbling quietly under his breath, but I can hear every word, "Oh, man...oh, man... shit... shit!" 

I want to scream at him - dammit Davis, help me! I stare him right in the eye, hoping that he'll see that I'm slowly suffocating to death. His brown eyes blink at me and I can read the alarm in them. 

I watch his gloved hands move jerkily, as if he can't decide what to do with them. Finally, he slides one under my neck and props my head back a little. Immediately it's easier to breathe, the difference is slight, but I'm so grateful I could cry.

"Hey, man, we got ya," Davis mumbles and starts wiping my bloody mouth off with something. 

Sully is grabbing my shaking hands and pinning them down by my sides. My body is staring to feel disconnected - I can't control anything anymore. I feel the urge to panic tighten my chest and I moan in agony. "God...please," I whisper. More tears spring up into my eyes and sting hot trails into my cheeks. 

"Bosco, it's okay," I hear Faith say softly. "Don't talk, just breathe." 

I wish it were that easy. 

"10-13, Officer down! We need a rush on that bus!" Sully barks loudly into his radio. 

"Copy that, Charlie. Bus is three minutes out," comes the static reply.

Three minutes. _I can't..._ Three minutes is forever. 

"You hear that, Bos?" Davis squeezes my shoulder gently. "Help is almost here... just hang on, okay?" I can hear his voice trembling slightly.

I attempt to nod my head, but end up gagging and spiting more blood out of my mouth. Davis' eyes grow even wider at this and his grip on my shoulder tightens. 

Every second is dragging on, bringing more pain and panic then I've ever felt. I'm not sure if I can make it three minutes without passing out, but Faith and Davis' constant patter of encouragement forces my eyes open and my mind to stay clear. Well, semi-clear at least. 

My brain feels all muddled and confused, like I'm high on some psychedelic cocktail. If it weren't for the fact that I'm in so much pain right now, I'd probably be wondering what I had taken.

Now, as I lay here in my own blood, spots have started to float in front of my eyes and my head is aching like a sledgehammer hit me. But the pain in my head is nothing compared to the intensely severe burning of my chest and stomach. I keep thinking that it'll get better, but it only gets worse. 

Faith and Sully continue to put pressure on my wounds and Ty holds my hands down. I want to tell him that that's not necessary, but I know that the second he lets go, my reflexes will take over and I'll start flailing around again. I can't control my body anymore...God, I'm so scared. 

I feel so tried, every muscle in my body has been rigid up to now, but I can feel them slowly relaxing, dragging me into the dark void of sleep. My eyelids droop, tempting me to surrender to the darkness that is calling. _If I sleep, I won't feel pain..._ Damn, that sounds so good right now. 

"Bosco!" Davis' voice startles my eyes open again. Pain hits again like a bolt of lightning, and I moan and gasp at the severity of it. _I can't do this... I can't..._

"Don't fall asleep, man. You gotta stay awake. Com'on, buddy," Ty pleads with me, his hands grasping mine a little tighter and his eyes flooding with panicked sincerity. 

My hands are starting to quiver, aching to be free from his grasp. _Davis, please let go_, I silently beg as I fight to breathe. My pathetic attempts fall short by a long shot. I think I'm barely supplying my brain with enough oxygen to function. Everything is fuzzy, from the lack of air or from the extreme pain, I don't know, but all I want right now is to die. 

_Just kill me now_, I want to scream at them. _It'd be lass painful..._ All I can manage to do is sob out another breath and hope that I don't asphyxiate on my own fluids. _God, I can't die like this..._

Davis' head snaps up and he looks far into the distance. "Oh, thank God," he breathes. His eyes dart back to my own and he smiles weakly. "Hey, Bosco, hold on. The medics are here. We're gonna get you outta here, okay?" 

I can hear the faint sound of slapping feet as they run towards us. My lungs start to feel tight again and I feel like I'm drowning. I rasp in another small breath and cough out a whole lot more blood. 

"Hurry!" Faith screams at the running feet, her blue eyes wide and red from crying. I can see her fingers pressed against my chest. There's so much blood seeping through them, dripping and falling to the floor beside me. Enough blood is on the ground all around me to be considered a pool, I'm sure. I wonder how much longer I can bleed before it's all gone... 

Doc and Carlos finally pound into view with various medical bags and the bright orange backboard thrown over their shoulders. "Move over guys," Doc orders as he runs up, "we got him." 

Faith and Sully move out of the way as best as they can while still applying pressure. Their slight movements send pain ricocheting throughout my torso, causing me to gasp in agony. My eyes fuzz in and out of focus and my heart pounds relentlessly against the horrible, fiery pain. 

Doc half-slides into a kneeling position next to me, and whips out his stethoscope. "Hey, Bosco, we gotcha now," he says quickly as he listens to my heart. "You're okay, we gotcha."

A moment passes of silence and the only thing I can hear is the sound of my feeble attempts to inhale: a grating, gagging, choking sound. It makes me feel sick. 

"Doc, he can't breathe," Faith tells him huskily. "Help him, please..." 

Doc nods his head solemnly and reaches behind him to grab an oxygen tank and mask. "Okay, Bosco, I'm gonna put this on you and see if we can get you to breathe easier," he tells me and slips the oxygen mask over my mouth and nose. I can't tell if it's helping any, but I just focus on breathing and pray that they don't have to tube me. I don't think I could handle a tube down my throat. 

Doc leans over me and asks Faith in a low voice, "Did you check for an exit?"

I know what he means. The bullets might not have gone through. They need to check. They need to move me. _God, no... I can't move, I'll pass out. _

Faith shakes her head no. Doc nods at her and comes closer to my face. "We're gonna roll you over, Bosco. We gotta check for an exit, okay?" He turns to Carlos. "Bring the backboard over here and get ready to slide it under him," he commands. 

_Don't. Please..._ I silently beg as Doc and Carlos prepare to roll me. Faith moves up towards my head and pushes my damp hair back from my forehead. I stare up into her eyes and watch them as they dart back and forth from mine to Doc to my chest. I can't help but see the uneasiness in them; her normally blue eyes have turned cloudy and are almost gray with fear. _God, I wish this wasn't happening...I'm sorry, Faith..._

"Okay, you got him?" I hear Doc ask Sully and Ty. They both have their hands under my right side and are ready to roll me over. My chest tightens again and my body tenses as I dread the inevitable. "Ready? One, two, three," he counts quickly. 

The pain hits as a shockwave - intense, excruciating, and unbearable all at once. Oh, damn, it hurts like hell! I fight the overwhelming urge to give in and pass out. 

The force of the movement thrusts whatever air I had left out of my lungs as a loud, raspy groan. My arms flop in front of me and smack onto the ground, scaring me half to death. I can't move them at all, they're numb. 

This is hell. No doubt about it. I'm convinced. 

I'm so damn tired... My vision is hazy again and my body is so deadened that can't feel anything but the extreme pain and the slowing thumps of my heart. I'm dying. I'm shutting down... 

"Okay, no exit wound on the upper. We got one down here," Doc's voice is loud and grating. Shut the hell up, Doc, I just want to sleep... or die - whatever is less painful, I don't really care anymore... 

"Carlos, get me another four-by-four and grab the C-collar. We need 'ta scoop and run," he tells his partner.

Crap. Scoop and run. They only do that when you barely have like five minutes left in your life. 

Finally, they roll me back onto the hard backboard. My head rolls around and I can't steady it, totally freaking me out, and I once again can't breathe. 

"How you doin', Bosco?" Doc asks me worriedly and grabs my chin to steady my head. "You still with us here? We're gonna put a collar on you real quick, and then we'll get you outta here."

Carlos' big, ugly head floats into view and he tips my head back quickly to fasten the collar on. As soon as he snaps that plastic thingy on, my stupid airway seals completely. Oh...shit. 

Now I panic.

My eyes fly open and my heart races at the thought of suffocating. Get it off! Get the damn thing off! I will my hands to move, to yank the collar off, but they don't shift at all. They must have tied them down already. _Oh, God, help me..._

I'm screwed.

Carlos peers down at me and frowns. "Uh, Doc, he stopped breathing... I'll bag him." 

_Thank you! _ For the fist time in my life, I actually feel like hugging the moron. He takes off the useless oxygen mask and places the blue cup of the air pump over my nose and mouth. Carlos' hands are dripping and covered in blood. My blood. Oh, sick. 

Faith's hand flies to her mouth and covers her sobs. God, she's as scared as I am... 

_Faith I'm sorry. _

Carlos squeezes the bag and a gust of air rushes down into my lungs. My chest nearly bursts with pressure, but I don't care - it's air. 

Doc grabs his penlight and opens my eyes, shining it right into them. Damn, the light is so bright it makes my head hurt. 

"Pupils are equal and dilating," he tells Carlos. Shit, that can't be good. 

The next few minutes are a blur as I feel them pick me up and carry me upstairs to the ambulance above us. I barely feel anything anymore, besides the pain, of course. My vision fades in and out of focus, but I manage to keep my eyes open despite the overpowering urge to fall asleep. I can't fall asleep. If I fall asleep I might never wake up... I'll be dead. 

"Bosco, you just hold on, buddy," Doc murmurs to me. His head is right above mine but he's only a big, black blur. Someone is squeezing my hand tightly - I think it's Faith 'cause I can hear her crying. I squeeze back as hard as I can, but my numb fingers scarcely move. 

"Mercy, this is Adam-553... GSW to the right upper... massive blood loss... decreased breath sounds... BP 60 over 30 and droppi-..." I can only hear bits and pieces of Doc's frantic call over the sound of my heartbeat and the noisy "whooshes" of air that Carlos pumps into me. 

Doc takes another look at my chest and then his hands reach down and press down firmly on my stomach. A white flash of pain blinds me, and for a second I'm sure I'll pass out. My body tenses again and goes rigid in agony and I yell out in pain. "Belly is tender and distended," Doc barks into his radio. 

_You think?! _ If he does that again I'll kill him...

We make it to the top of the stairway, and the icy wind bites into every inch of my uncovered skin. "Let's get him in quick," Doc says, sounding really rushed and worried. "Davis, I need you to drive!" 

"I'm coming with you," Faith sobs and squeezes my hand tightly, but Sully pulls her away from me and shakes his head. 

"No, they need room to work," he tells her as they load me into the bus. "We'll follow right behind them." 

No, wait...Faith... I want her to come with me. What if I die? I don't want to die in the back of a bus with Carlos. That's like my worst nightmare. I need Faith. 

I hear the back doors slam shut and someone pound the routine three knocks on the back. The sirens start up, splitting my head in half with their shrill ringing. _Oh, God, please turn it off... please... _

"Just hang on, Bosco, we gotcha," Doc assures again as he works on me. I wish to God that everyone would stop asking me to hold on. They have no idea what they are asking me to do... _It's too hard. I can't..._

Someone grabs my arm and I feel a stinging sensation as an IV line goes in. Doc and Carlos talk back and forth quickly in a bunch of medical jargon that I don't even try to understand. Something about "hemopneumothorax" and "cyanotic" and junk like that. 

All I know is that my heart is slowing down fast - too fast. I should panic, but I'm too damn tired to do anything. "Hey, Bosco, squeeze my hand," Carlos murmurs as he grabs mine. I try to, but it's limp and floppy. My stomach turns at this and I feel like I'm going to be sick again.

Suddenly my heart starts beating really hard and out of sync, twisting painfully in my chest. It feels like someone is ripping it out... _Oh, God, I'm so sacred..._ "He's throwing PVC's!" Doc says loudly, sounding really panicked. "Davis! Put your foot down, we need to get there fast!" he hollers to the front seat. 

_This can't be happening to me. It's all a dream. I just need to wake up..._

"You got it," I can barely hear Davis answer as the bus lurches forward. 

The urge to let go and give in to the darkness is uncontrollable. I can't stay awake anymore. I tried, but I can't. My eyelids are heavy and my body feels numb and lead-filled. I should just let it go, there's no way I can wait until the hospital... 

_Faith I'm sorry... Tell Ma I love her..._

I relax and give up, letting myself slip away into it, letting my eyes close. Everything is black, dark, but I can still hear. I can hear frantic voices and the beeping of the monitors. 

I can hear it all slowly fade away.

The last thing I hear before the sounds are completely gone is the loud, death-shriek of the heart monitor.

**********

TBC... Maybe. ;) 


	7. In The End

**That Day**

In The End

A/N: Thank you guys so much for your kind words! This is the last chapter, but I'm already working on my next angsty story. Thanks again everyone, I loved every review!

**********

The next thing I knew, I was laying in an uncomfortable hospital bed with a tube down my throat and my eyelids taped shut. The darkness was so black and dark and frightening, deeper then anything I've ever seen or experienced. I thought for sure that I'd died. 

I remember lying there for a good time, trying to decide whether I was in Heaven or Hell. Faith believes in the afterlife and all that, but I wasn't so sure. Not until then, that is. Darkness is my own Hell. 

I was terrified. 

Then the sounds drifted in: a monotonous beeping, a soft swishing. I knew these sounds. I wasn't in Hell. I wasn't sure at first where I was or what had happened, but I heard Faith's voice, low and soothing, and I knew: I had survived.

They told me later that I had come into the ER as dead as a doornail. My heart had stopped on the way over and I hadn't breathed on my own for at least ten minutes. My lips were blue, my eyes dilated, and my reflexes non-existent. Dead. I had kicked the bucket, cashed in my chips, bit the dust - I was gone. 

Doc and Carlos had done their best - apparently they had shocked me three or four times on the way to the ER, but I just hadn't responded. They refused to give up though, and kept at it, hoping and praying to God that I wasn't really gone. Doc said that he had never seen so much blood come out of one person as he did that day. I lost nearly all of it, he told me. It was all over the bus, all over me, all over him... He was pretty sure that I was a goner. 

The ER doctors had to pump me full of adrenaline to jumpstart my heart, and even then they had to keep shocking me for a good twenty minutes before I responded at all. They used liter after liter of donor blood to get my circulation going again, and were on the verge of cracking my chest open to manually pump my heart. They were out of options. 

Faith said that she stood outside the trauma room window, watching the whole time in horror. The blood didn't bother her, she said, but it was the way the monitors shrieked so loudly after every shock of the defibrillator, and how limp I had become. She knew, though, that I'd be back, that I'd never give up. "You just wouldn't quit like that," she later told me flat-out. I'm glad she has that much confidence in me and my abilities, because I'm sure as hell that I had no control whatsoever over the whole being dead thing. It makes me feel better to know that she thinks I actually fought though it, less guilty about letting go back in the bus. If she only knew how scared and tired I was - there was no fighting on my part. But now, I'm just glad she was there for me. I need her. 

After almost an hour of working on me, I was stable enough to go to the OR. They say I was a mess. The first bullet had hit my lung and collapsed it, and the second had ripped through my abdomen and shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. A mess. It took twelve hours of surgery to fix it all. You should see the scars I sport now. It looks like a train hit me. 

I don't remember any of this. Nothing. I didn't even have one of those deathbed experiences you read about, you know, the light at the end of the tunnel, the angels. None of that stuff. Nothing but horrible black.

They say that I was in a coma for three full days. My body didn't have the strength to fight and had shut down almost entirely. It's funny, because even though it was days and hours later, it only felt like a second between the time my eyes closed that last time in the ambulance and the moment that I woke up.

Faith told me later that the first thing I said to her when I came out of it, was something to the effect of: "Shitty day, huh?" I guess I thought that it was still the day from Hell.

Jimmy ended up all right. The doctors say that, thanks to Doc and me, he was out at just the right time. Five more minutes in that smoke and he would have been dead. He came over and invited me out for a drink the other day. He had never thanked either Doc or me, not that I expected it or anything. His pride equals mine - we don't say thanks, it's too hard. I could see that he wanted to, though, and that's all that counts, right? I don't do my job for a pat on the back. I'm just glad he's okay. That's good enough for me.

I talked to one of the ballistic guys about why the hell those bullets went though my vest. He said that the bullets that were in the gun were that special kind, cop-killers. Vest-busters. Well, they did their job all right - they busted my vest, right through it. He had the stupid, shitty, piece of junk in the lab and offered to show it to me. I don't know why, but I couldn't bring myself to look at it. The damn thing let me down. It was supposed to save me, to protect me, but it was useless.

The guy that shot me is dead. Faith filled him with so much lead that the coroner had to ask her just how many rounds she fired. Ten. Ten bullets right into the head of that psycho. 

We found out his name: Gary Steel. Kinda like what his head is filled with now. How appropriate... Turns out he'd been in and out of the mental hospital for years. He had some complex that made him think that people were out to get him... They have no idea how he got the gun. Mad, I tell you. Stark, raving mad. 

I don't like to think about him. He scares the shit out of me. I've had nightmares for months of his sweaty, panicked face, bloodshot eyes and gravely voice screaming at me, and I wake up shaking in a cold sweat. I suppose he'll always be there, lurking in the back of my mind. I want to forget, but I need to remember, if that makes any sense. It doesn't to me... 

Fortunately, I've haven't had such a weird and horrible day since getting back on the job - nothing I've been through has come even close. I don't think anything will ever come close. Nothing can. 

Months have passed, and my wounds have long-since healed, but I'll never forget that day. It will always haunt me. Every sight, sound, smell and taste will be there, following me, haunting me with its painful reality, and reminding me constantly how good I really have it. 

Because I'm alive. 

**~ The End ~**


End file.
